


made of glass and careless

by dazedlight (opinionoutpost)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hockey AU, Hockey!Luke, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Shotgunning, Stoner!SOS, michael and calum are wannabe potheads lmao, mild drug use, side malum, sort of??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opinionoutpost/pseuds/dazedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton is a maintenance worker at the local hockey rink. Luke plays for the local hockey team. They like each other most times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	made of glass and careless

**Author's Note:**

> so many PSAs before you read this fic oh god ok here we go:  
> 1) i have a very limited knowledge of hockey so if there are inaccuracies i apologize  
> 2) i feel like it’s fairly obvious that this doesn’t take place in australia and that’s for a couple reasons: a) i just sort of wrote what felt right in terms of weather and shit without even thinking about the fact that it doesn’t really get, like, cold in australia and by the time i was done, i was too lazy to change all that. b) i imagine hockey is not particularly popular in australia anyway so i figured accuracy wasn’t of the utmost importance. also i’m writing about a fictional relationship anyway so like. does it really matter???? none of this is real they're not actually in love etc etc  
> 3) the australian school system confuses me so much oh my god so those elements are based quite heavily on my experiences in both high school and university  
> 4) i just sort of transplanted everyone into a town that is, again, pretty heavily based off where i grew up just 'cause it felt right
> 
> sorry for all the explanations but i felt they were important before you start reading. this thing is a beast and i am so, so scared but also so, so excited to finally be able to share it with you all. thanks for sticking with me, and i hope you enjoy!

Ashton would be lying if he said he liked his job at the ice rink. The hours were awful; his supervisor was a joke; there were always asshole teenagers trying to piss their names into the ice, among other things. Generally speaking it's a shitty job but it pays above minimum wage, and he can use the rink for free whenever he wants. Not that he really takes advantage of that last perk but it's a nice thought.

It's late, and he's about to lock up, doing one last walk around to make sure he didn't miss anything when he sees them: two couples carving up his freshly smoothed ice and effectively ruining his last hour's work. They're giggling and young and part of him feels bad about breaking up what is obviously a date, but he's also really fucking pissed that he's going to have to stay late and deal with the ancient Zamboni the rink refuses to replace. So he calls out a warning that sends the kids scattering, shooting off in all different directions in an attempt to get away. He lets them scramble because there's only one door unlocked, and Ashton's standing in front of it. They're surprisingly quick, stumbling up the stairs in their socks and hastily trying to shove guards onto their skates. When they catch sight of Ashton blocking the door their faces drop. One boy with curly dirty blonde hair looks ready to book it past him, but Ashton sets his jaw and straightens to his full height to look at least a little intimidating. It works, and the kids drop their stuff in resignation.

“Please don't call the cops,” the other boy whispers, head bowed and looking legitimately terrified. He hadn't planned on calling the police – although he probably should – just their parents. But the guilt and regret on everyone's faces softens him.

He drags a hand down his face with a sigh and pulls out his phone, holding it out to them. “Just... call someone to come pick you up, okay?”

One of the girls grabs his phone eagerly as the blonde boy mumbles a thank you. They huddle together and make their calls while Ashton keeps an eye on them. Once they're done, the blonde boy hands him his phone, and they wait the ten or so minutes it takes for rides to arrive in silence. Some parents do show up, apologizing profusely as they collect their children. One girl's sister comes by looking haggard and annoyed but promises not to tell their mom when the girl pleads. It leaves Ashton with the blonde boy. He's in no mood to make conversation but he feels inclined to ask, “Do you need a ride?”

“No,” the boy responds quickly. “My cousin's coming.”

Ashton nods and takes out his phone, flicks through twitter to kill time. They must wait at least another ten minutes before there's a knock at the door, Ashton pushing it open without a thought. A young blonde guy stands on the other side, looking sheepish with his hands tucked into a denim jacket that's probably too thin for the weather.

“Hey,” he says. “I'm here to pick up Archie?”

He gives the guy a once-over, not bothering to be subtle. He's tired and just wants to go home, but he's not a complete asshole; he's not going to let this kid go home with just whoever shows up. He peeks over his shoulder at the kid. “This for you?”

The kid nods jerkily. Ashton narrows his eyes at the guy. He's stamping his feet to keep warm and smiles when he notices Ashton looking. “You're really his cousin?” he asks.

“Uh, yes?” he answers, peers around Ashton to wave at the kid. “Hey, buddy.”

The kid waves back meekly, cheeks flushed. The guy gives him a small smile when Ashton glances carefully between the two of them, as if the boy's acknowledgment is enough proof that he's not some creepy predator. Not that this guy looks particularly pedophile-ish but he's not about to hand the kid over without being certain. 

“Can I see some ID?” he asks, and he knows he sounds like an idiot but he wants to be sure. 

The guy laughs, smile quickly slipping from his face when Ashton just shifts a little uncomfortably in his stance. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, holding out his hand.

“Dude, that's my uncle's kid. I'm not a creep, I swear.” Again, he peers around Ashton to look at the boy. “We're cousins, right, Archie?”

“Obviously,” the boy mumbles, still staring resolutely at his hands. The guy looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and honestly, Ashton is embarrassed enough and exhausted enough that he caves, stepping to the side and allowing the man in. He keeps an eye on them the guy to helps his cousin gather his things, watching cautiously as he asks the boy how the date went.

“Dad's going to be so mad,” he hears the kid say as he's pulling on his coat.

“Nah, don't worry. It'll be fine.” The guy reassures him with a ruffle of his hair. “You're dad got into loads of trouble when he was your age. He'll understand.” He stoops to pick up the skates, slinging them over his shoulder. “Plus, it was for a girl. You don't want to know all the stupid stuff he did for girls before he met your mom.”

The boy seems to perk up at this, fiddling with the zipper of his coat before asking, “Like what?”

“I don't know if I can repeat some of the stories I've heard,” he replies with a wink that makes the kid giggle. Their interactions make it clear Ashton was probably overreacting and his cheeks burn. As they're passing by, the guy reaches out and claps Ashton on the shoulder with a smile. “See you around.”

Ashton just nods and shuffles them out the door as quickly as he can, praying that he won't see this guy around since he probably thinks he's a suspicious old man hiding in a college student's body. He may as well have been yelling for these damn teenagers to get off his lawn. God.

“Have a good evening,” he calls at their retreating backs, and the guy turns back to wave, flashing another smile. He has a nice smile, Ashton thinks. Once they're gone, he re-locks the door, twisting around to lean his back against it and stare down at the marked up skating rink with a sigh before trudging to the equipment room to re-resurface the ice.

* * *

He's ahead of schedule for once, and his supervisor, Wallace, despite hanging around the rink all day, hasn't actually bothered him at all, which is a damn miracle, and he's in a chipper mood because of it. It's rare he gets to leave early, something always breaking just as he's finishing up because the rink is old and in need of too many adjustments that Ashton isn't skilled enough to complete. He's competent enough but his quick fixes are more like band aids than actual repairs. In a perfect world, they'd get a professional in to fix everything up and make his job a thousand times easier, but outside of the hockey games, the rink doesn't get as much traffic as it used to, and the owners don't see it as worth the investment. So Ashton makes do with his limited knowledge and patchwork toolbox and hopes for the best for the most part.

He's headed to the laundry room, bin full of sweaty hockey uniforms to be cleaned. Laundry isn't part of his job – it's not even the rink's responsibility – but they have the machines here from when there was a hotel attached to the building for away teams to stay at. Ashton let's Mallory, a lady who's constantly picking up odd jobs, like doing the team's laundry, to make some extra money, use the machines for free every now and again. She'd come in earlier with her niece on her hip and her youngest clutched to her side looking frazzled and overwhelmed. Ashton had taken pity on her, offered to do the laundry that evening so she could maybe get some rest and pick everything up tomorrow morning. He remembers how stressed his mom would get when he was little, doing her best to take care of him and his siblings while the power was in and out and the rent was usually overdue. He does his best to be kind to everyone, but especially single mothers like Mallory, who are busting their asses to make ends meet. So even though he hates laundry – it's always been his least favourite chore – he doesn't regret offering this meager service in the slightest.

That is, until he hears Adam thumping down the hall behind him, interrupting the relative peace with the loud, almost painful _thwack_ of his soles slapping the concrete.

“Ash!” he calls out after him, and he slows. From the sounds of it, his running can't be good for his knees. He's always had shitty form.

“Hey.”

“What's going on?” 

“Nothing,” Ashton replies as he picks up his pace now that he's caught up, purposefully staring forward. He's walking a little too fast, the stench from the ripe jerseys wafting upwards and burning his nostrils but he refuses to slow down. Maybe the smell will scare Adam off sooner rather than later.

“I feel that,” Adam says, bobbing his head along. Ashton eyes him warily. There's something about Adam that is unsettling; he's too touchy, too intense, maybe, for his taste. He treats him like an old friend, even though Ashton barely regards him as an acquaintance. The only thing he genuinely likes about him is that he's bad at his job, which means Ashton can do things the way he wants with little to no consequences. 

“Listen,” Adam starts once a sizable silence has stretched between them, and Ashton braces himself for some of the gossipy bullshit that he thrives on. “I know we've already got you closing most days, but this new coach – Feldmann, have you met him? Great dude but he's, like, crazy about drills and shit.”

“Uh huh,” Ashton hums, careful to keep his voice even.

“And he – the coach, that is – wants to start doing early morning practices.”

“Sucks.”

Adam laughs, forced and disingenuous. “Yeah, well, he wants to take us to the top this year so we gotta put the effort in, you know?” He slaps Ashton on the back a little too hard and he jolts forward into the rim of the laundry cart. Too strong. Too friendly.

“Sure.”

“So, uh.” And now he pauses, uncomfortable with just asking for what he wants. Ashton waits him out. He'll get to it eventually.

He clears his throat, adjusts his beanie. “Look, I was wondering if I could get you doing the morning shift on the weekends?”

“Your shifts,” Ashton clarifies. He's covered for Adam more times than he can count so the clarification isn't really necessary but it makes him squirm a little and gives Ashton some satisfaction.

“Uh, yeah.”

“On top of my regular hours.”

“Yeah.”

“Starting when?”

“Tomorrow?” Adam says hopefully.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats flatly.

“Yeah. Yes.” He can see him wincing out of the corner of his eye. “You'd really be helping me out, man.”

“Oh, well in that case,” he grumbles to himself. They get to the laundry room, and he takes his time finding the correct key and unlocking the door while Adam shifts from foot to foot. “How early is early?”

His face lights up. “Like 5:30, but I promise I'll come in at the same time and help you set up and anything else you need to do until practice starts. I promise.”

He wants to say no because 5:30 is fucking early and he is not a morning person. He knows Adam has good intentions but he also knows he's anything but reliable so although he says he'll help, that could mean anything. It more than likely means he'll roll in five minutes before practice starts, leaving Ashton to prep the rink alone. 

Still, he feels... guilty just turning him down without a chance. He's bordering on too old to be on the local team for any longer. Realistically, he should probably be trying out for bigger teams, but the past few seasons have been rough, and it's hard to get scouts to recognize talent when you're playing on a team that consistently loses. For the most part, Adam takes his hockey career seriously so maybe Ashton can depend on him. And more hours means more money, which is never a bad thing.

“Fine,” he sighs out.

“Dude, seriously?”

Ashton nods as he starts loading the laundry machines, careful to keep the cart between them. Adam is a hugger.

“Yeah.”

“Dude,” Adam crows as he bounds over to his side and pulls him in, Ashton patting awkwardly at his back with one arm while simultaneously attempting to start the washer. “You're a lifesaver.”

“It's nothing.”

“No,” he says somberly, pulling away from the hug to hold him at arm's length. “It's everything.”

He holds Ashton's gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time before Ashton breaks the contact, clearing his throat and casting his eyes downward. “Right.”

Adam smiles warmly at him and gives his arms a tight squeeze before leaving, tossing more thanks over his shoulder as well as a wave. Ashton lets himself push out a great gust of air once he's gone, leaning against the washer and running a hand through his hair. He hopes he brings coffee tomorrow.

* * *

He doesn't bring coffee but he is on time. Sort of. He's Adam's version of on time, meaning he's about twenty minutes late and half asleep but willing to help. Ashton sets him up in the locker rooms, getting stuff organized and making sure all the faucets are working properly after months of disuse while he tackles the Zamboni, coaxing it to life and carefully steering it up to the rink.

When everything runs smoothly, resurfacing the ice is his favourite part of the job. It's mind-numbingly simple so he can lose himself in the slick glide of the machine. The thrum of the garbled engine isn't exactly soothing but it's familiar, and he associates it with that near magical whoosh across the ice. It makes the world disappear for a brief moment and he can ignore assignments and deadlines and bills; it's just... nice.

Luck is on his side today, as the Zamboni continues to run properly and he finishes resurfacing the ice in about twenty minutes, which is a blessing. He parks it in the little bay off to the side for easy access before he goes to help Adam. He finds him fiddling with one of the shower heads, peering up into the spout and frowning.

“I think there's something stuck up there,” he says without looking away.

“Just put an out of order sign on it for now. I'll take a look at it later.”

He nods and does as he's told, while Ashton heads to the laundry room to gather the uniforms for Mallory to pick up. He folds everything neatly before setting the piles near the door for her to see immediately and then heads to the boiler room to make sure nothing has broken overnight. Again, he finds everything in order and smiles; the world is right for once.

He finds himself with about half an hour to kill before the team shows up so he walks to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the road and picks up a cup for himself, as well as one for Adam. He's trying, and Ashton's willing to reward that. Once he gets back to the rink, Adam thanks him for the coffee, and they sit quietly in the main office, Ashton catching up on some reading for class and Adam dicking around on the wheezing desktop until some of his teammates start trickling in. Then he's off, pulling people into those one-armed, bro hugs jocks seem to be notorious for. Ashton watches them roughhouse down the hall, their loud shouts ricocheting off the high ceilings and echoing in his ears. It's all a bit much for him so early in the morning.

He stays in the office once the coach arrives and practice starts. Truthfully, when the rink is in use, there's not much for Ashton to do. If it's family hour he kind of patrols the area with the first aid kit ready just in case a kid hurts themselves but these kids are technically professionals he guesses so he's kind of useless. 

After an hour or so of studying, he starts getting restless and decides to walk a couple laps to burn some energy and maybe watch the team run plays and drills. He's not super interested in hockey, but it's a big deal in this town so he knows the basics and he played a little when he was younger, as did pretty much everyone else. He leans his forearms against the railing and stretches out his back a bit before settling and watching the team skate back and forth, passing the puck with ease and precision. They all kind of look the same from up here, the padding making everyone look broad and hulking, intimidating. 

He watches for awhile longer before stretching again and making his way to the locker rooms. He's got time to kill so he may as well fix the broken shower head while he can. He snags the toolbox on the way over and plunks it at his feet while he unscrews the head carefully. Something rattles inside as he fiddles with it, squinting at all the intricate pieces slotted together. He shakes it around a little more, hoping whatever is loose will just fall out so he doesn't have to attempt to take the whole thing apart. When nothing comes loose, he sighs, staring up at the spout. It looks kind of rundown without the head attached but if the water runs fine, he could probably just leave it until he can get a professional to check it out. He turns the stiff tap on and listens to the familiar sound of the boiler pumping water through the pipes. He waits and waits, and even though he can hear the water rushing, nothing comes out of the spout. He peers up into the skinny opening, too dark to see much of anything. As he looks closer, he thinks he sees something blocking the hole, and picks up a screwdriver, sticking it up until he hits something squishy and soft. He groans, hopes to God it's not mold or something equally as awful and begins digging it out. Whatever it is comes out in a dark clump, hitting the floor with a wet smack. It doesn't look like mold but he knows he's going to have to call the plumber to check it out and a... mold guy? A health inspector? He's in over his head, God.

As he's inspecting the black lump, an unsettling sucking sound gurgles above him, drawing his attention back to the spout. Little droplets of water are dribbling out of it as the noises continue, and he straightens to get a better look. There's definitely something else stuck, and he's about to attempt to stick his hand in there when a great groaning sound comes from the pipes and a sudden gush of water bursts from the spout, effectively soaking his entire face and torso.

“Fuck,” he splutters as he blindly gropes for the handle, trying to stay as dry as he can. He finally gets a grip on the knob and wrenches it to the left, cutting off the stream of water and allowing himself a moment to catch his breath. He's drenched, clothes hanging heavy off his body. He peels off his sweater and rings it out, not that it does much. His shirt is clinging to him uncomfortably so he takes that off as well but now he's shivering and slightly less... soggy. He stares uselessly at his shirts in each of his hands, trying to decide whether it's better to be cold and damp or cold and half naked while the water pools in his boots and soaks his socks.

“Uh.” He hears a voice echo in the empty change room, making him jump and whip around. “Do you need help?”

And it's the guy from the other night – the cousin he mistook for a possible pedophile. His face burns as he just stares at him, apparently incapable of forming words.

“I have an extra shirt, if you want it,” the guy continues when Ashton doesn't say anything.

He looks down at his bare chest, then back to his sopping shirts and nods a little dazedly. “Yeah. Yes. That would be great.”

The guy shoots him a smile before disappearing into a giant duffel bag, rooting around, as Ashton stands in the middle of the showers awkwardly, trying to shift subtly from foot to foot to get some circulation going in his toes, which have started to numb. Once the guy resurfaces, he totters over to him, unsteady on his skates, and takes the wet clothes from him, hangs them over a bathroom stall door and pulls the clean shirt over his head, all before Ashton can fully register what is happening.

“Sorry I don't have any pants,” he says, gesturing to Ashton's damp jeans.

“It's okay,” Ashton says, still a little thrown by the fact that this dude basically just dressed him because, like, that's weird, right? He should be weirded out by that.

“I'm Luke.” He sticks out his hand, which Ashton takes. 

“Ashton.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says with a smile, and it's just as nice as the first time Ashton saw it. He opens his mouth to say something else, but another voice from the hall cuts him off.

“Hemmings! Coach is gonna kick your ass if you're not back on the ice in five.”

Luke frowns, and it's not as nice on him, but it's still pretty great. “Gotta go, I guess,” he says almost apologetically, as if he and Ashton were having a supremely important conversation and it's a travesty to tear himself away.

“Yeah.”

Luke turns awkwardly and begins lumbering towards the ice, waving as he ducks through the doorway, leaving Ashton in his wet jeans, confused and cold.

* * *

Adam makes good on his word and shows up every Saturday morning on time to help Ashton putter around the rink. To be honest, there's not usually much to do since he's, you know, good at his job and usually preps as much as he can the night before. They spend a lot of time hanging out in the office, Adam telling grand tales from whatever parties he attended the past weekend while Ashton half-listens, half-studies. The more time he spends with Adam, the more he starts to maybe like him; he's still hesitant because he talks a lot of shit about a lot of people Ashton was under the impression he was friends with. Still, if Adam is good for anything, it's a good story so more often than not, Ashton finds himself laughing along to whatever shit he's gotten up to recently.

“And, dude, this girl – she was just... man she was something else. Totally called me on my shit, which was hilarious, _and_ drank me under the table. She is a goddess, and I am but a mere mortal.”

“Sounds like she's the one,” Ashton says with a smile, glancing up from his textbook.

“She is,” Adam replies, face sobering as he makes a point to catch his eye. He does this often, going from joking to eerily serious and almost intimidating. It throws him off and makes him a little uncomfortable but he's... kind of getting used to it, he guesses. 

“So did you ask her out?” he says as he averts his eyes back to his readings. He may be used to it but the prolonged eye contact still freaks him out a little.

“No,” he says and collapses back into his seat, a dreamy smile on his face. “She hates me.”

Ashton raises his eyebrows. “How are you –”

“You should come out with us, man,” he exclaims suddenly, shooting upright again. “I bet you get wild.”

Ashton laughs. “Not really.”

“Right, sure.” He winks, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “But really, you should come out. It'd be fun.”

“Who's us? The team?”

“Yeah!” Adam says, practically bouncing in his chair now. “They're great dudes.”

“I'm sure they are.”

“So you'll come?”

Ashton pauses, glancing down at the textbook in his lap. “Parties aren't really my thing.”

“Come on,” Adam pleads, up out of his spot now and coming to kneel at Ashton's side. “It'll be fun. And I know someone who's been asking about you.” 

He tries to quell his curiosity, but Adam catches the quick flick of his eyes over to his and grins, knows he's got him. 

“Who?” he asks reluctantly, knowing he's been caught.

“Come out tonight, and you'll find out,” he says with an eyebrow wiggle.

He's intrigued, he's not going to lie. It's not often someone “asks about him.” He and Adam don't really travel in the same circles but they live in a small enough town that it's not too much of a stretch to assume they know some of the same people. He can't even remember the last time he went on a date. Maybe it'd be nice to meet this person who's apparently interested in him and shake off the dust. There's no harm in at least flirting a little. God knows he's out of practice.

He's about to cave, and he knows Adam can tell as he inches closer and closer to him with hopeful eyes, hands clasped to his chest dramatically. 

“Okay,” he finally says, and Adam leaps to his feet with a loud cry of victory.

“Yes!” He thrusts a fist in the air and proceeds to dance badly around the cramped office, bumping into the cluttered desks and sending crap tumbling to the floor. “I'll clean that later,” he assures him before dancing out of the room, as some of his teammates begin to filter in. Ashton watches him shimmy down the hall and shakes his head before turning his head back to his studies.

* * *

After practice Adam tells him he'll text him the details for tonight in front of essentially the whole team, and it makes his cheeks burn. He mumbles something that sounds close to 'okay, cool' before busying himself with his bag. Adam announces Ashton's finally going out with them, which embarrasses him even more since it makes him sound like some sort of pathetic recluse, but then the team cheers, a handful of guys smacking his back on their way out the door. He's not sure if they're just hyped up from practice or what, but he appreciates the enthusiasm anyway.

He waves good bye as the team files out before heading back to the office. His shift is technically over so he doesn't really have to do anything else but he's in the habit of double-checking the majority of Adam's work and he hates leaving things unfinished anyway so he stays and doesn't chart overtime.

He flicks off the office lights and locks up, back to the arena as he roots around his bag for his bus pass. He hums along absentmindedly to the music drifting out of the headphones around his neck as he shuffles the various loose papers around, mostly not paying attention to anything. His wallet is basically falling apart so his cards are constantly slipping out and getting caught in between books and papers so by the time he gets on the bus, he's scrambling to find the right one.

“Green Day?” someone says and Ashton just about jumps out of his skin when he looks up to find Luke sitting by the doors, smiling – always smiling, he's starting to notice.

“Yeah. Basket Case,” he says, and Luke nods, quietly sings a couple bars to him, and Ashton's surprised to find he's actually pretty decent. Ashton sings the next few lines where he left off, pleased when Luke's smile stretches wider, eyes alight with surprise.

“You have a great voice,” he tells him earnestly. His sincerity makes him blush, and he brushes the compliment off with a shrug.

“So do you.” He means it, but Luke reacts similarly to him, ducking his head bashfully and shrugging. “Are you waiting for a ride or something?” he asks, and Luke shakes his head.

“Um, no. I was waiting for you. I thought I could walk you to your car or something.” There's a flush spreading from his ears down his neck, and Ashton kind of wants to laugh because it's pretty adorable. Part of him reminds himself it's actually kind of creepy for someone who is essentially a stranger to wait around for nearly half an hour just to walk him to his nonexistent car, but he pushes that thought down because Luke seems nice enough. He has dressed him so maybe they get to skip normal friendship stuff.

“You can walk me to the bus stop,” he offers as he holds the door open for Luke to step through first so he can lock up.

“You don't have a car?”

“Nope.”

“I'll give you a ride, then,” he says decisively, then backtracks. “If that's okay?”

It's not a particularly long bus ride home but the sky looks gloomy and ominous and he'd rather not get rained on so he agrees and follows Luke over to the only car in the parking lot, a rather beat-looking junker with mismatched doors.

Luke opens the door for him before circling around the front to climb in the driver's side. It's almost comical watching him maneuver his massive frame into what Ashton realizes is a pretty tiny car but he manages somehow. Once he's in, Ashton feels like he should applaud, it's such a feat.

“Where to?”

“Take a left out of the parking lot and go straight for a couple blocks,” Ashton instructs, and Luke obeys, turning onto the deserted road smoothly.

They ride in silence for the most part, aside from Ashton's occasional direction. He's acutely aware of the quiet and can't help but bounce his knee nervously, tapping a beat with his fingers on the leg he manages to keep still.

“Adam said you're coming to the party tonight?” Luke says after a good ten minutes of silence, and Ashton nods, wonders what it is with these guys and parties and why it's such a big deal that he, specifically, is going. “Cool,” he says and bobs his head to a nonexistent beat. 

They turn onto Ashton's street and he quickly points out his house, hardly waits until the car comes to a complete stop before he's opening the door and clambering out, thanking him for the ride hastily. He doesn't like people seeing where he lives, not because he's ashamed but because it's... he doesn't know, intimate and private and it's just weird for him.

“Hey,” Luke calls out before Ashton can shut the door. “Do you need a ride tonight? Derby's house is pretty far from here, and the buses can be shoddy late at night.”

He has no idea who Derby is or where he lives, but he shakes his head anyway. “Don't worry about it.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and Luke sucks his lip ring into his mouth, chewing on it for a moment before turning the car off. Ashton feels his heart stop for a moment. If he thinks Ashton's going to invite him in, he's insane. Just having him outside his house like this is making him fidget. But he doesn't climb out of the car, instead reaches over to the glove compartment and pulls out a pen and an old receipt, scribbling something on it before handing it to Ashton through the still open passenger door.

“Call me if you change your mind, okay? Seriously, the buses are so bad at night.”

Ashton takes the number and nods again, taking a step back and making sure to shut the door so Luke can finally leave. He probably won't call him. He can get the car from his mom, and even if he can't, he's pretty much a pro at navigating the inconvenient late night bus times at this point. The gesture is nice at least.

“Alright, cool. See you later,” he says with another smile, and Ashton waves as he calls a goodbye as well. His chest unclenches once he sees Luke's taillights disappear onto the main road, and he slumps into the house and up to his room, where he pitches himself onto his bed, exhausted.

* * *

When he wakes up, his room is black. He hates falling asleep in the light and waking up in the dark, finds it disorienting in the worst kind of way. He scrubs a hand over his face to wipe the grogginess from his features, but it doesn't help much so he ambles to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. There's a bunch of sheet creases across his left cheek, which he rubs at. It just makes them look red and irritated, like scars. He rubs at them a final time before flicking the lights off in the bathroom and heading downstairs.

It's loud downstairs, with the TV blaring and his mom flitting around the kitchen. His sister is perched at the dining table with books spread out in front of her and her phone out, ignoring her homework and texting, while his brother is glued to the screen in the living room.

“Hi, love.” His mom greets him with a quick kiss to his cheek and a tight squeeze to his arm before she turns back to the stove, stirring something rich in a pot. He kisses her cheek in return and moves a pot of overcooked broccoli to a cold burner before slowly easing her away and taking her place, tasting the stew-like dish she'd been preparing.

“It needs more rosemary,” she tells him absentmindedly, already hustling into the living room to tidy up, trailing a hand through his brother's hair as she passes him.

“I think it tastes great,” he says but she waves him off, coming back into the kitchen to reach around him and sprinkle some of the herb into the pot. She instructs him to stir and then taste after a moment, and she's right; it did need more rosemary. “I don't know why I try to disagree with you when you're always right.”

“Mother knows best.” She pats his cheek affectionately.

He checks his phone and sees a text from Adam with an address and a time, along with a slew of happy faces and exclamation marks. There are a couple more messages from unknown numbers – the hockey team he assumes – all of them excited and loaded with emojis. Despite himself, it sends a little thrill of pleasure down his spine, knowing how eager all these people are to see him. Maybe one of these numbers is from the person who's been asking about him. He slides his phone back into his pocket with a smile on his face to find his mom hoisting her purse onto her shoulder and collecting the car keys.

“You're going out?” he asks and feels his stomach churn.

“Yeah, the girls and I are going out for drinks. Is that okay?” Her tone is playful, and she smiles cheekily at him, like they're just joking around. He wants to say no, that he has plans for once that he was kind of excited about, but, like him, his mom rarely goes out. She deserves to have fun with her friends just as much as he does, if not more so. 

So he says, “Okay,” and ignores the lump of disappointment that settles in his stomach.

She raises her eyebrows and rounds the counter separating them to take his hands and hold his gaze. She's very big on eye contact, his mother, and he hates it because it makes it so much harder to lie. “I don't have to go, if you've got things to do. I can go out any time.”

“No, it's fine,” he says, eyes cast slightly to the side so he doesn't have to look at her directly.

“Ashton Fletcher,” she says sternly, her bright eyes burning holes into him. 

“It's just a party. There'll be other ones. You should go have fun.” He squeezes her hands before dropping them, gives her a tight smile. He's never convincing when it comes to his mom, and he knows she'll probably want to talk this out at another time, but the disappointment of his canceled plans is draining him and he kind of just wants to go back to bed. 

She continues to stare at him until he eventually turns his back to her to prod at the dishes on the stove. “It's okay to be a kid sometimes, you know,” she says quietly. “You don't need to take care of us all the time.”

“I know.” He turns to face her again and gives her a more genuine smile. “But I'm fine, really. Go on.” He nudges her towards the door. “Have fun.”

She watches him carefully for another moment before hiking her purse up with a smile. “Alright, then.” She kisses his cheek goodbye and does the same to Lauren and again to Harry. They both make a face after, but he knows they secretly like it, just like he did when he was their age. His mom calls out one last goodbye before she actually leaves, slamming the door a little too hard in her wake.

“I don't know why you can't go out, too,” Lauren grumbles from the table. “I can look after Harry. I don't need a babysitter.”

“Maybe I don't want to leave you,” he says and drops a kiss to the top of her head as he places a plate of food in front of her. She swats him away with a groan and fixes her hair where he messed it up, and he laughs, heading to the living room with a plate for Harry as well as himself.

“What are we watching, little man?” He hands Harry his meal and he takes it without removing his eyes from the screen and immediately begins scooping food into his mouth at lightening speeds.

“'How the Universe Works,'” he replies around a mouthful of quinoa. Ashton turns his attention to the television and listens to a robust male voice explain how a black holes work and swallows thickly.

“Pretty heavy stuff.”

Harry just shrugs and keeps shoveling food into his mouth. Ashton continues watching until he finishes eating, rising and collecting Harry's and Lauren's plates when he goes back to the kitchen to wash up. He's sliding the dishes into the drying rack when he feels his phone buzz, and he slides it out warily. There are a couple more texts from unknown numbers that he must have not felt come through, as well as several from Adam, all in a row. He's about to answer one when his phone starts buzzing in his hand, Adam's name popping up on the screen. He sighs and reluctantly accepts the call.

“Dude! You still coming out? Luke said you needed a ride so I thought I'd swing by on my way to Derby's.” He can barely hear what he's saying over the music blaring in the background.

“No, I can't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's practically yelling now, the music somehow louder.

“I can't go,” he repeats a little louder. Lauren glances up at him and he purses his lips and turns his back to her.

“Dude, I can give you a ride no problem, okay? I'll be there in, like, ten–” A horn blares loudly, almost directly into Ashton's ear, and he hears Adam swear and apologize a couple times.

“No, it's not the ride. I just have other stuff to do tonight.”

“What, school stuff? Come on, man, you gotta take a break some time.”

“No, it's...” He catches Lauren still watching him and covers his mouth, wedging himself further into the counter. “It's family stuff.”

The music cuts out abruptly, and Adam's tone drops significantly. “Shit, dude, sorry. Anything serious?”

“No, just have to look after my siblings. It's nothing.” 

“I got you. Listen, if you can come out later, like after everyone's asleep or something, give me a call, yeah?”

“Sure,” he says even though he knows he won't.

“Alright, see you around, man.” And then he's gone before Ashton can say goodbye. He stares at the phone screen until it goes blank, reading all the encouraging texts from people he doesn't really know and swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. It's irrational to be so upset about one party, especially when he knows next weekend and the weekend after that and the next after that there will be more, but the disappointment and self-pity bubbling up from his stomach and choking him is too much. He can't quell it no matter how many times he reminds himself it's a silly thing to be sad about.

“I'm going to bed. Come get me if you need anything, okay?” he tells Lauren, who nods, still watching him carefully. He thinks she might say something again, and he's almost waiting for her to, holding his breath in anticipation. But then she gives him a fleeting smile and turns her attention to her books and Ashton trudges back to his room, where he passes out for another few fitful hours of sleep.

* * *

He expects the invite the next time the team has practice, which maybe makes him sound a little conceited but he realizes now that the hockey team, for some reason, really likes him. He's not sure if it's just this bizarre, borderline mob-mentality brotherhood thing the team seems to have going on that makes them eager to drag anyone in their relative age range into friendship or if they're all legitimately this friendly, but either way, he's met with several invites to another party, as well as an onslaught of disappointed comments when he explains why he wasn't in attendance last week.

“That's cool that you look out for your siblings like that,” one guy with particularly impressive biceps tells him once he's made his excuses. The remaining guys hanging around after practice nod in agreement.

“Thanks,” Ashton says uncertainly. It feels weird to say thank you for something he thinks is just right to do. He doesn't look after his siblings because it makes him look like a nice guy; he just does it. He honestly can't imagine saying no to anything related to his family. Maybe it's an eldest sibling thing, a complex. There could be worse things to always say yes to.

“You're coming tonight, though, right?” someone else asks, and he shrugs. He hasn't quite decided yet, whether he wants to befriend the hockey team. They're nice people, but he really doesn't know them, and Ashton is... cautious of who lets into his life.

“Well, if you need a ride or whatever, let one of us know.”

And that's another thing: everyone seems to have cars and ample amounts of gas because literally _everyone_ offers him rides. He could probably call any one of the numbers in his phone at any time of day and ask for a ride and someone would be there within the hour. It's like having his own personal taxi service. 

He thanks them again and waves goodbye as they filter out into the parking lot, climbing into their hoard of vehicles and peeling away. He heads back to the office and finishes off some filing Adam forgot to do before collecting his things, tapping the edge of his bus pass between his thumb and forefinger in a quick, staccato beat. He locks up the office and is about to do the same to the front door when he finds Luke sitting at the same bench in the same position as last week, and it's trip of deja vu for sure.

“Hi,” he says, and Luke waves, stands with his bag in his hand.

“Need a ride?” he asks.

“Um.” Ashton looks at his bus pass in his hands and considers lying. If this becomes a regular thing, Luke will eventually remember where he lives and that makes something inside him twist tightly. He doesn't exactly want to say no because Luke is nice, he guesses, but he also doesn't really want to say yes. When he chances a glance back at Luke, he looks hopeful and kind, and it just _gets_ Ashton so he says, “Sure.”

And it lights up Luke's face – God, what doesn't light up his face? – and he eagerly steps forward to offer to carry Ashton's bag, which he refuses because, really, his bag isn't even heavy and it's, like, a two minute walk to his car, max. 

When they get to the car, Luke hurries to open the passenger door before his own like last time. Ashton wonders if he is genuinely this chivalrous and does this for everyone. Once he's settled inside, he smiles at Ashton, _again_ , the boy smiles too much, honestly, and asks for directions, which eases the twist in his gut a little. He still has some anonymity. 

“You didn't come to the party,” Luke says once they're on the highway.

Ashton sighs. “Yeah, something came up.”

“Oh,” Luke says, like he's surprised. Why would he be surprised?

“I had to babysit,” he supplies, even though Luke didn't ask. He nods but doesn't say anything more. Ashton catches a tiny, almost pleased smile tugging at his lips, which is... strange.

“So you have siblings?” Luke says after a moment.

“Yeah, a sister and a brother.”

“Younger, I'm assuming.”

Ashton nods. “Thirteen and eleven.”

Luke raises his eyebrows. “Not that much younger.”

“I'm twenty, so they're not exactly close to my age.”

“Ah,” Luke says and nods again, that frustrating little smile still present on his mouth. He wants to ask why he's smiling like he's keeping a secret, why it feels like he's amused by him or something. Before he gets the chance, Luke is pulling to the side a couple houses down from his and shutting the engine off.

“It's a little further up,” he says.

“Right,” Luke says and nods some more. He's staring straight ahead with his hands in his lap, twisting at a thick silver ring on his pinkie. Ashton didn't think the players were allowed to wear jewelry on the ice. Maybe he takes it off before practice and before games. It looks awfully small, though, probably a struggle to get it off and on that often...

“Are you coming tonight?” Luke asks abruptly, turning in his seat to face Ashton.

“I don't know,” Ashton answers honestly.

“You should,” Luke says, then, more quietly, “I'd like it if you came.”

“You and the rest of the team.” Ashton laughs and Luke smiles weakly, not a real, authentic smile. It makes his own laugh die in his throat. “If you really want me to, I'll go,” he says after the air between them stiffens.

“Really?” Luke looks up at him from beneath his lashes, which is... God, it's actually really nice. He has nice eyelashes. There's so many of them and they're so pale; they look like feather down. It makes his stomach twist some more but in a different way, a good way. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. It earns him a grin, and Luke twists back around to start the engine and drive the few hundred feet to Ashton's house, which is completely unnecessary but sweet.

“I can pick you up, if you'd like,” Luke offers once they're idling in front of Ashton's house.

“Sure.” And again, Luke grins at him.

“You have my number, right?”

“Uh...” He remembers Luke writing it down for him but he didn't put it in his phone and the slip of paper is probably long gone.

“It's fine, I'll just grab yours,” he says and takes out his phone, staring at him expectantly. Ashton stutters out his number and somehow manages to haul himself out of the car because before he knows it, he's waving mindlessly at Luke's taillights as they disappear down the road.

He walks into the house in a daze, barely greeting Lauren and Harry. 

“Who was that?” Lauren asks, twisting around on the couch to face his back as he meanders into the kitchen.

“Just a guy from work.”

“His car is kind of awful,” Harry pipes up, rising onto his knees and mirroring his sister's position.

“Yeah.”

“You never let anyone drive you home,” Lauren says, eyeing him suspiciously.

“That's not true,” Ashton replies even though it is.

“Is he coming back? Do you think he'd let me look at his car?” Harry interjects.

“Yeah, he's coming back later tonight. I'll ask him about the car.”

“Are you dating?” Lauren asks, just as Harry shoots out an excited “Cool!” and disappears behind the couch again.

“What? No,” Ashton answers, bewildered. 

“Then why is he coming back?”

“We're going to a party.”

“Together?” 

He hears the insinuation behind the word but ignores it. “He's just giving me a ride.”

“Why? You can drive yourself.”

“We're going to the same place. We're saving gas. Being economical.”

Lauren narrows her eyes. “Does he live near us?”

He opens his mouth to fire back a reply because Jesus _Christ_ she's being nosy but he stops short when he realizes he has no idea where Luke lives. “I don't know,” he says.

Lauren smirks as if she's won. “So this guy is possibly driving all over town just to pick you up and go to some party.”

“He's not driving all over town.”

“You don't know that,” Lauren says smugly.

He wants to snark back at her but nothing comes to mind so he just huffs frustratingly.

“Ashton's got a date,” Lauren sing-songs, and he rolls his eyes as he heads to his room.

“It's not a date,” he grumbles and hears Lauren laugh in response.

* * *

He really didn't think it was a date until Lauren put it in his head and now he's nervous. Half his closet is piled on his bed in search of something to wear and he's been fluffing his bangs every five seconds, trying to get them to spill to the side more instead of flopping around on his forehead and in his eyes. He shouldn't be worried; it's _not_ a date. They're just two buds carpooling. That's it.

Except the more he thinks about it, the more it seems kind of vaguely date-ish and that freaks him out. He didn't sign up for a date. At least, he didn't think he signed up for one. But what if Luke thinks it is and he has to tell him no? He doesn't want to date Luke. He doesn't really want to date at all – he thinks, anyway. He remembers Luke's dumb, sunshine smiles and the way he put his little cousin completely at ease when he thought he was going to get in so much shit and that weird but kind of wonderful moment in the locker room and it all sends a warm thrill straight to his heart. But he's not... he's not in the right headspace for a relationship right now. He needs to focus on school and get a job so he can pay off his student loans and any debt his mom has still hanging around from the divorce and – there's just a lot he needs to do. A relationship would distract from all of that.

Even as he's telling himself all these things, he still carefully selects his outfit and runs some mousse-y, curl-defining stuff through his hair. Maybe he wants to look nice for himself for a change. There's nothing wrong with that. 

When the doorbell rings, he practically jumps out of his skin, and then just about brains himself on railing as he trips down the stairs in his rush to get to the door first. He beats Lauren by an arm length but she still gives him a satisfied smirk and lingers by his side.

He pauses, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. “You can go,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“I want to meet him.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“If he's just a friend then what's the big deal? I've met your friends before.”

Ashton opens the door instead of responding, and there's Luke, fidgeting and smiling nervously down at him (Down at him. _Down_ at him. Ashton hasn't felt short in, like, six years, what the hell). 

“Hey,” Luke greets, then, upon seeing Lauren hovering by his elbow, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Lauren says, not even looking at him, instead grinning at Ashton.

“Time to go,” he mutters quickly and attempts to squeeze the door shut without looking too rude.

“Ashton!” he hears Lauren protest as Luke calls a quick “Nice to meet you!” while Ashton clicks the door closed.

“She seems nice,” Luke says as they walk towards his car. He opens Ashton's door for him, again, God. 

“Most of the time,” Ashton replies. 

Luke laughs so hard his voice squeaks. Ashton watches him squint his eyes shut and finds a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. Luke's nose scrunches when he laughs this hard and it's kind of adorable.

“Where are we going?” he asks once Luke's calmed down and they're pulling onto the main road.

“Rian and Alex's house. It's just a couple minutes up from here, actually.”

They pull down a side-street about ten minutes later. It's a nice neighbourhood bracketed in by huge maple trees and filled with expensive-looking houses.

“Rian and Alex live here?” he asks incredulously. It's hard to imagine two students being able to afford living in an area like this.

“Yeah, they rent a house with a couple other guys. I think one of their dads is the landlord.”

Ashton nods, eyes trying to take in as much of the beautiful homes as he can before they slide away. They take a left down another street, and he can practically feel the bass from here. There are cars parked all over the place, but Luke pulls right into the driveway, like there's a spot saved just for him.

“Ready?” Luke asks, and Ashton swallows.

“Yes.”

They breeze inside without paying the cover fee, Luke waving at the two guys manning the door. They wave back and return to their conversation, and Ashton finds himself watching them as they wind their way deeper into the party. The foyer is packed with people drinking and talking, and he can't imagine it getting more crowded until they get to the living room. The couches are pushed into a half circle in the back corner, where people are spread out, passing around what looks like a joint, while the rest of the space is used as a dance area. It's suffocating, bodies pressing in from every angle. The music is so loud, it's making his ears ring and all of this is exactly why he doesn't go to parties often. Luke reaches back and tugs his wrist with a reassuring smile, and Ashton steels himself; he can give this thing a chance.

They pop out of the throng into the kitchen, which is still brimming with bodies, but there's room to breathe and it's quieter. There's a game of beer pong going on amid the bottles scattered across the island in the center of the kitchen, loud cheers erupting whenever someone scores. 

“Do you want anything?” Luke asks as he starts mixing himself a drink. 

Ashton shakes his head. “It's fine, I got it,” he says, spotting the keg propped up on a shaky-looking table. Before he can get to it, though, Adam smacks into his side, roping him into a hug and sloshing beer onto his boots.

“You came!” he exclaims.

“I did.”

“He came!” he repeats, this time to the room. The beer pong players look up from their game and cheer. “You need a drink,” he says decisively.

“I can get one–”

“Here, have this,” he says instead, ignoring him and handing him a cup from his other hand. He pulls him close again and gives him another hug, singing in his ear as they separate, “You can meet that special someone tonight.”

Ashton raises his eyebrows. “Special someone?”

“Yeah, you know.” He pauses to wiggle his eyebrows. “That special someone who was asking for you last time.”

Ashton takes a sizable gulp of his drink instead of responding. He'd honestly kind of forgotten about that whole thing. Presented with the idea again, though, he's curious. “Right. Sure.”

“Let me introduce you two,” Adam says a little distractedly as he scans the room. He holds a finger up to him and mutters, “I'll be right back,” before disappearing into the living room. He watches him go a little helplessly.

“Hey, man, you wanna play?” One of the beer pong players asks. He glances around the room for Luke, but he's apparently gone as well. He looks down at his drink and finds it almost empty.

“Sure.”

* * *

He's not sure how long they play for, but he quickly discovers he's been tricked because literally everyone at the table is an athlete of some kind and, therefore, have fantastic aim. Ashton finds himself drinking too often and missing too much, and he's much drunker than he intended to be but he's kind of okay with it. He's got a happy glow going on, and everyone is so nice. They ask him who he knows here, and he says Adam and the rest of the hockey team, he guesses, and they all laugh at that for some reason.

“Dude, there's, like, four different hockey teams here,” a girl informs him and playfully chucks him on the shoulder. 

“Oh,” he says and sways a little. The girl grabs his arm and steadies him, laughing.

“I think you've had enough,” she says not unkindly. “Besides, we were wiping the floor with you when you were sober so it's really not fair to take advantage.” She winks at him and gently pries his cup from his hand. He laughs and knocks their heads together, and she smiles. She's pretty, with shiny chestnut brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. It drapes easily over her shoulder, like silk. She's been nice to him all night, and he wonders if maybe she's who's been asking about him. 

“I want to dance,” he announces and lurches toward the living room, letting his arm slide out of the girl's grip. He kind of expects her to follow, but she doesn't, just smiles and gives him a small wave. That's okay, though; he really does want to dance.

He's not a good dancer. He's got rhythm but he's awkward, doesn't quite know how to actually _move_ outside of just kind of pogo-hopping around. Whoever is in charge of music must be really into EDM, which works in his favour since pretty much everyone is just jumping around so he'll fit right in. Some people are pressed up against one another, hips swaying and grinding, and for a moment he misses that closeness. He's not quite drunk enough to approach a stranger, though, so he lets himself melt into the crowd until he's close to the center, bouncing to the heavy bass beat pounding through the floor. 

He feels a hand on the small of his back and whirls around, hands in the air and flailing, almost smacking Luke in the face. He shouts something but the music is so loud, Ashton can't hear him. He looks different, like he changed maybe. He thinks it's maybe the hat – it's the first time he's seen him without a snapback or a beanie or helmet hair and his hair is softer than he thought it would be, fluffier. It looks like someone's been running their fingers through it, and Ashton finds himself hoping it was just Luke's hands combing through his fringe and not someone else's. 

“We should dance,” he shouts and takes Luke's hands in his to pull him nearer. Not exactly close, but into his space enough so that it's clear they're dancing together not just next to each other. Ashton kind of wants to rest his hands on his waist, wants Luke's hands back on the curve of his spine.

Luke can’t really dance either. He kind of just wobbles his head to the beat, swaying slightly. He looks nervous, hands limply holding onto his. Ashton kind of likes it, likes that he has the option to pull away, leave him partner-less if he feels like it. He likes that Luke looks like this intimidating, jock-ish idiot who probably should be way more confident than he is. He can’t even commit to holding his hand, he thinks, and laughs out loud. Luke raises his eyebrows, and Ashton just shakes his head, draws him in a little closer. He could probably kiss him – would he mind? Does he want to? He examines his lips; they look smooth, surprisingly unchapped. Everyone on the hockey team seems to have permanently chapped lips. His mouth is pretty, in a word, like a doll’s, with his pronounced cupid’s bow and pouty lower lip. Ashton wouldn’t mind kissing him, he decides.

So he does. He makes the decision – he wants to do it, and he’s got just enough alcohol pumping through his veins that he doesn’t think of the consequences. He pulls Luke close, sets his hands on his waist and rests a hand on the back of his head. Luke looks a little alarmed, so Ashton leans in and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Luke nods vehemently, grip tightening at his waist as he pulls his lip ring into his mouth. He’s never kissed someone with a lip ring before.

He goes slow because there’s really no rush. He wants to give Luke the option to say no, too, because he just looks so nervous. Ashton’s worried he might jump out of his skin. 

“Come on,” Luke breathes against his lips, and that’s enough. Ashton closes the minuscule gap between them, and it feels like Luke melts into it, whole body melding to his. One of his hands slides a little higher to support him, burning a brand into the small of his back. Ashton sets his other hand on his waist, lets his thumb slip under the loose fabric of his flannel shirt. He’s more smooth curves than hard ridges - the complete opposite of what he expects. He’s seen plenty of the hockey team in various states of undress, and they’re pretty much all ripped as hell. But Luke doesn’t feel that way at all, and it’s intriguing. 

They kiss slowly, almost languidly, again surprising him. He expected Luke to be a lot more handsy and rushed, but he, for the most part, is letting Ashton take the lead. He’s used to that, and it’s comfortable and maybe it’s part of the reason why he’s enjoying the kiss so much. He doesn’t make out with strangers often, perhaps because it’s always so hurried and _hungry_ and that’s not what he wants. He thinks, anyway. He’s not really sure what he wants.

And that thought kind of freaks him out, makes him reconsider what he’s doing. What does he hope to gain from this? Not a boyfriend, he thinks. Not a hook up. He doesn’t… he just doesn’t _know_ and that scares him, makes him feel guilty. It’s enough that it spoils what he thought was a rather enjoyable kiss and he pulls back, panting a little. He glances up at Luke, gauging his reaction. He smiles at him – of course he smiles – and his eyes are warm. It makes his gut coil into a hard knot. He starts to separate, apologies already forming on his lips and then Adam is appearing, fucking _Adam_ , always interrupting. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you–” He stops when he sees Luke’s hands around his waist, Ashton’s fingers just barely threaded through his hair. Ashton flushes and starts putting more space between them. He feels Luke’s hands slide off his hips and he misses the warmth of his palms pressing against him.

“Shit, sorry,” Adam fumbles, a grin on his face as they separate. He winks. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting anything,” he says quickly. He catches the flicker of hurt across Luke’s face, but ignores it, concentrating on Adam’s blown pupils.

“Oh, I think I was,” he says and winks again. Ashton wishes he would stop.

“What do you want?” he asks instead of acknowledging… anything. Everything. He can’t think right now.

Adam’s gaze shifts between the two of them, swaying slightly. They’re all swaying, too many bodies moving to let them stand still. He kind of appreciates it; it gives him something else to focus on other than the way Luke’s staring at him. 

“I was going to tell you that a certain someone” – another wink – “was here but,” His eyes flick to Luke once more, “Looks like you already found them.”

It takes a moment before everything falls into place. He just sort of blinks at Adam for a minute as he processes, his brain sluggish. When he glances at Luke, things make sense, and his face burns stronger than before. He mumbles something incoherent under his breath and starts pushing through the crowd, needing some space, just somewhere to breathe, somewhere open where he can clear his head. He thinks someone reaches for him, their fingertips brushing against his wrist, but he keeps moving forward until there’s a break in the sea, and he’s tumbling into the foyer where there’s some space but not enough. He pushes through the people milling about until he gets to the front door, practically kicking it open in his haste and finally there’s enough air. It’s cold and crisp and smacks him in the chest, punching the air out of his lungs. He’s not really hyperventilating, he thinks, but he focuses on taking even breaths anyway.

He shouldn’t be freaking out; this is nothing, it means nothing. It was just a kiss and some dancing – all stuff that is universally meaningless. But he’s so _embarrassed_ and _guilty_ for some reason. There’s nothing to feel guilty about, he reasons. So why did he run away? Why did he leave Luke with that awful, dejected look on his face? Why is he being such a… such a _child_ about this whole thing?

He doubles over and rests his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. He thinks he might throw up but the nausea passes and leaves him gulping in the icy air. 

Someone asks him if he's okay on their way inside, and he waves them away, doesn’t even bother to look up. 

“Fuck,” he pushes out as he sits on the front steps. The guys who were watching the door when he arrived aren’t there anymore. The front of the house is pretty much deserted, the only signs of the party raging inside coming from the heavy bass keeping time with his heart. He lets out another strong push of air and buries his face in his hands. He needs to… he needs to just relax. Everything is fine. He’s overreacting to nothing. Literally nothing.

“Are you okay?”

He jumps at the voice, raising his head to find Luke hovering over him, eyebrows knitted together. He hunkers down next to him, resting his forearms on his knees. His legs are so long, he looks all hunched up and folded over just resting his feet on the next step down. He can’t be much taller than Ashton, but he feels so much bigger. It’s disconcerting for him; he’s always been the biggest.

“I’m sorry if what happened in there made you uncomfortable,” he says when Ashton doesn’t reply. He’s consciously avoiding his gaze, examining his hands instead. He’s wearing that same thick silver ring on his pinkie, twisting it absentmindedly. He focuses on that instead of Luke’s expression.

“If you’re not interested in guys right now, or you’re experimenting or whatever, it’s cool. I get it. I know the first time I kissed a guy, I freaked out a little.”

“What?” he says, eyes flicking up from the ring to Luke’s face, then back down.

Luke peeks at him through the corner of his eye before continuing. “The first time I kissed a guy, I just, like, laughed forever, this crazy, like, lunatic laugh. It probably would’ve freaked anyone else out, but I guess I got lucky.” He chuckles to himself, as if remembering a fond memory, and it makes Ashton’s gut twitch. 

“Was he your boyfriend or something?” Ashton asks.

Luke sneaks another glance at him before speaking again, careful, as if he’s afraid he might spook Ashton away, like he’s some deer caught in his headlights. “No.” He laughs again, a little louder this time. “He was – is – my best friend, actually. He sorted out his sexuality stuff ahead of me.” He shrugs. “Like I said, lucky. I got to practice on him before wading out into the dating pool.” He holds his gaze for a moment for the first time and smiles, soft and easy.

“My first kiss was during Spin the Bottle,” he says a little stiltedly. Luke laughs and it prods him on. “I was, like, fifteen which was the worst part. It felt like everyone had kissed someone by that point except for me so I was all eager. It landed on this guy in the grade above me and everyone was, like, yelling and stuff, making jokes because they didn’t think we’d actually go through with it. And I was prepared not to even though this guy was pretty cute and older so, you know, I was pretty excited but I didn’t want to force it, right?”

“Right.”

“But this guy.” He pauses to huff out a laugh. “He just looked at me and went ‘Wanna have a go?’ and I was so excited to finally kiss someone I practically fell into his lap.”

Luke laughs that high, squeaky laugh, and it's like a shot of warmth through his chest. 

“So did it go well?”

“It was perfectly awful,” Ashton says, and it gets him laughing again. “I’m not scared to kiss guys,” he says once they’ve both settled down. “That’s not why I reacted so... badly.”

Luke nods. “Okay.”

“I think I’m a little scared to kiss you.”

“Why?”

He should have expected that honestly, but it still catches him off guard. He doesn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.”

Luke pulls his piercing into his mouth with his teeth and chews on it, rotating the hoop back and forth. “I don’t really know what to do with that,” he replies honestly. 

Ashton huffs out a sad half-laugh. “It’s a shitty answer.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, just watching cars roll past.

“I think I’m…” Ashton starts. That’s as far as he gets before lapsing back into silence, trying to sort out his thoughts. Luke doesn’t rush him, and he appreciates that. He just keeps twisting that ring. 

He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I think I’m scared of a, um, relationship.”

“A relationship?” Luke repeats slowly.

“With you.”

“With me?”

“With anyone, really,” he amends, glancing at him guiltily. “It’s been a while.”

Luke nods, again slowly, like he’s taking each of Ashton’s words and examining them carefully. “Okay,” he finally says but uncertainly, as if he’s waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m just not in the right place for anything serious right now.”

“Okay.”

“There’s just a lot of... stuff with me. Weird stuff.” He laughs feebly.

“Everyone has weird stuff,” Luke says easily. 

“I guess.”

There’s a pause in the conversation before Luke’s asking, “Did you think we were going to date or something just because we kissed?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, I just… Adam told me someone had been, um, asking about me and that someone turned out to be you but I didn’t know that when we kissed and I didn’t want to, you know, encourage you or whatever.”

“Ah.” Luke nods. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Adam can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.”

Ashton laughs, and Luke smiles a little sheepishly, flushing.

“No, he can’t.”

“We can still be friends, right?” Luke asks.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Luke smiles. “Cool.”

They sit out on the front steps until his fingertips go numb and they’re both sniffling. Luke drives him home, and it’s awkward but not as bad as he thought it would be. He doesn’t need to give him directions home, which would normally worry him, but he elects to ignore it. He has a good feeling about Luke; he can let him in.

* * *

“How did your date go?” Lauren asks too early the next day. He’s not even awake yet, still cocooned safely in the warmth of his blankets. He shifts so his back is pointedly facing her as he burrows deeply into his pillows.

“Ashton,” she says sternly. She sounds so much like their mom.

He groans noncommittally and pulls the blankets over his head. 

“Ash _ton_ ,” she almost-whines, starting to bounce on his mattress, jostling him.

“It wasn’t a date,” he grumbles from beneath his blanket fortress.

“Fine,” she says and ceases the bouncing. “How was the party?”

He rolls over to face her, blinking blearily against the brightness of the day. “Why do you care?”

“I’m not allowed to be interested in your life?”

“No,” he says and turns over again. She groans and swats him with a spare pillow before giving up and leaving him to his dreams. 

“I made food,” she calls over her shoulder, and it's almost enough to get him out of bed. He rolls onto his back and gropes around his sheets for his phone, checking it once it's unearthed; it's just past noon, much later than he likes to be up. His mouth is too dry and it feels like his brain is sloshing around in his head every time he moves too quickly. He feels generally gross and considers just sleeping the remainder of the day away.

His phone pings before he can nestle back into his bed, a text from Luke illuminating the screen.

' _Hey! :-)_ ' it reads and Ashton is weirdly put off by the nose in the smiley face. And the exclamation point. No one should be exclaiming this early. Not that it's actually early but, you know. He just woke up, he doesn't have patience for smiley faces and exclamation points. 

' _Hi_ ' he texts back, the bare minimum he can offer. He flops back onto his side and stares at the screen until Luke responds.

' _How are you? Feeling ok?_ '

' _I feel hungover._ ' Which is true, but he's pretty sure he's not actually so he tacks on, ' _but I'm not so I'm enjoying the gross of a hangover without the benefits of having been drunk the night before._ '

Luke replies quickly. ' _I have a fool-proof way of curing not-hangovers._ '

' _Really_ '

This feels a little like flirting, and he's not sure how he feels about it. There's a nervousness growing in his gut, but he's eagerly waiting for Luke's response regardless. It's conflicting, to say the least.

' _Yep._ '

' _Care to share_ '

' _Give me an hour and I'll be over to cure your hangover blues :-)_ '

He snorts, sends back a quick 'okay' before he can think too much about it and lays around for awhile. He's actively trying to not think about the fact that Luke will be inside of his house, maybe inside of his room, which is kind of a disaster. When he gets caught up in all his assignments, everything piles up, papers and books stacked into make-shift islands amid the mess of clean and dirty clothes littering the floor. It would be easy to clean, but he rarely has the time, and right now he just doesn't want to. Maybe it'll be enough of an excuse to steer Luke away from his room. He's barely ready for him to come through the door, let alone into the one part of himself that is solely _his_.

With that in mind, he hauls himself out of bed and puts on some clothes. He splashes some water on his face to wash off last night's grime and pushes his fringe around on his forehead before giving up and just letting it flop around however it feels. His eyes are puffy and deep, discoloured bags hang heavy under his eyes. His skin is sallow and his head is still doing that sloshing, liquidy thing, making every movement a monumental effort. It takes entirely too much energy to drag himself downstairs, where he puts on a pot of coffee and nibbles at the sandwich Lauren left for him. His stomach doesn't completely recoil at the food, and he's thankful for that because he's starving. The coffee perks him up some, but he still feels like death, and elects to vegetate on the sofa instead of doing his normal chores. He flops down next to Harry and starts to lose himself in the documentary that's on.

“You smell,” Harry informs him during a commercial.

“Thanks, bud,” he says and reaches around him to shove his face into his armpit.

“Ashton!” he squeals, pushing helplessly at his sides. They grapple until the show comes back on, Ashton letting up with a ruffle of Harry's hair and a smirk. He grumbles a bit, but is soon sucked into the program, a soothing voice explaining the reproductive cycle of some sea coral Ashton's never heard of in his life. He lets the calming shots of the ocean life sedate him, almost forgetting his anxiety about Luke's impending visit. He knows it's dumb to be worried, and he easily could have said no, but a small, creeping part of him is just... tired. He's kept so many people at a distance for so long and maybe he's lonely or something because as much as it scares him to think of Luke on this couch next to Harry or at the dining table with Lauren, it's also not all totally bad. Maybe he just needs to take baby steps. Luke doesn't have to come in in, if he doesn't want him to, he reasons. If he gets here, and all he can handle is Luke in the entrance way then... that's fine. There's nothing wrong with that.

Just as he's calming down, there's a tepid knock at the door. He catches Lauren's head shooting up, and she immediately makes eye contact with him, eyebrows inching toward her hairline. His face burns even though he has no reason to be embarrassed as he rises from the couch, Harry's gaze trailing after him before returning to the television. 

He takes a deep breath before answering the door. When it swings open, Luke beams, eyes lighting up as he takes a step forward to, what, hug Ashton? Whatever he plans on doing, he bails when Ashton just stands there, squeezing the edge of the door until his knuckles turn white.

“Hey,” he says instead, an easy save.

“Hi.”

“I brought my hangover cure,” he says and lifts a plate of what look like brownies into Ashton's line of view.

“Brownies?” 

“Slutty brownies,” Luke corrects, like that's supposed to clarify everything.

“What?”

“They're brownies with a layer of cookie dough and oreo beneath them,” he explains proudly as he unwraps the cling film encasing them so Ashton can get a closer look. They're at least two inches thick, cut into huge slabs. Just looking at them makes Ashton's teeth ache and stomach grumble. 

“These cure hangovers?” he says dubiously, eyeing the plate warily. He really wants to eat one, like, right now, but the abs he worked damn hard for all last summer are telling him no.

“Yep,” Luke says, and he looks so sure that Ashton caves, accepting the plate and moving to the side to let Luke in. He beams again, handing off the plate and shrugging out of his coat. He folds it carefully over his arm instead of hanging it up and makes sure his shoes are pushed to the side, out of the way of the door but not piled up with everyone else's. It settles him to see that, for some reason. He feels less imposed upon, and he finds it oddly sweet that Luke doesn't just immediately make himself comfortable. 

He waits for Ashton to get ahead of him, following him into the living room. Harry stares once Luke appears behind him, and Lauren pretends to be engrossed in her magazine.

“Hi, I'm Harry,” Harry introduces himself, resolutely attempting to make steady eye contact with Luke. He told the kid once that eye contact was important, especially when meeting new people because it showed confidence, and he took the advice and ran with it.

“Hi, I'm Luke,” Luke says smoothly, apparently unperturbed by Harry's adamant eye contact. 

“That's Lauren,” Ashton mumbles, gesturing at his sister who barely raises her head to acknowledge their presence. Luke waves and says hello again before turning to Harry and asking him what he's watching. Ashton opens his mouth to stop him, but it's too late, and Harry launches into a detailed explanation of the documentary. Luke nods along, a small, polite smile on his lips the whole time. 

When they're rounding the five minute mark, Ashton takes pity, sliding into the conversation with the announcement of the slutty brownies.

“Luke brought brownies,” he interjects gently. He doesn't mind listening to Harry talk about space or cars or the ocean or whatever is interesting him that week but sometimes he gets a little too riled up and goes on for ages. He doesn't want to discourage him by cutting him short, but people often glaze over when he goes on for too long, and he'd rather cut him off than have someone pretend to listen.

“Luke made brownies,” Luke says quietly, a tiny, embarrassed half-smile slipping out.

“You bake?” he asks because that's unexpected, to say the least. Luke nods, and Ashton kind of wants to discuss this more, but before he can, Harry leaps up to inspect the goods before delicately selecting one near the center of the plate and settling back into his spot on the couch, munching happily. 

“How's it taste?” Luke asks.

“Good,” Harry says around a mouthful of brownie, flicking his eyes over for a millisecond of eye contact before focusing on the television once more.

“Hey,” Ashton chastises. “Manners.”

He swallows the last bit of brownie and mumbles a thank you without breaking his gaze. Ashton winces apologetically, but Luke just looks pleased.

“You should try one.” He gestures to the plate in Ashton's grip. “I did make them for your not-hangover.”

Ashton picks one of the squares and bites a chunk off the corner. It's almost sickeningly sweet, but so, so good. Everything melds together into a gooey richness that coats his mouth, and he has to suppress the urge to moan as he rolls his eyes back in his head.

“Holy shit.” He could probably marry this brownie, honestly. “This is amazing.”

“Yeah?” Luke says, rubbing the back of his neck and toying with his lip ring.

“I'm seriously considering proposing right now.”

His eyes widen a little as he chews aggressively on his lower lip before Ashton's words catch up to him.

“To the brownie. I'm – I want to marry this brownie,” he stutters. Luke, to his credit, just laughs and thanks him. It's a little awkward as they stand there, Ashton shifting his weight from foot to foot while Luke lets his attention drift to the documentary. 

“So –” he starts, unsure of what he's going to say.

“I should –” Luke says at the same time, and they laugh nervously before Ashton gestures for Luke to continue.

“I should get going,” he finishes. 

Ashton's surprised at the touch of disappointment that settles in his chest next to the relief. “You just got here.”

“I was dropping by before practice,” he explains.

“Oh.”

“Enjoy the brownies, though. I promise they'll make you feel better.”

“They do. They have. They're good.”

Luke smiles. “Thanks.”

Again, they enter a weird stand-off thing. Ashton's not sure if he should give him a hug or a handshake or what, and Luke is kind of hovering, toying with his keys. They could stand there forever, until a snappy, upbeat voice blares from the television as a commercial for cheap burgers comes on, promptly snapping them out of it.

“Anyway, I should –” Luke makes an aborted gesture behind him and starts shuffling towards the door as Ashton nods along.

“Right.”

“I'll see you around,” he says and smiles, tucking his feet into his shoes and letting himself out as Ashton stands rooted in his spot by the couch, tracking his retreating figure. He watches him lope down the walkway and climb into his car through the slim windows running parallel to the door and finds himself... missing him. Which is ridiculous because he's just left but there's an undeniable wistfulness to the gust of air he lets out once his car pulls onto the road. 

“He's cute,” Lauren pipes up from the dining table. He'd forgotten she was there.

“You're thirteen, Lauren,” he reminds her, not that that's what she means. He knows what she's implying and decides to ignore it like before. He doesn't even know how old Luke is, he realizes. 

“Oh, my God, not for me – for you, dummy.”

He stiffens, his grip tightening on the plate noticeably. “It's not like that.”

Lauren raises her eyebrows. “He brought you baked goods, Ashton.”

“He made them,” he mumbles, looking down to avoid her gaze, then to the side to avoid the brownies. He knows this doesn't look platonic and, to be honest, it doesn't _feel_ platonic, but, like, guys can make baked goods for their friends without it meaning anything else, right? After last night, Luke felt like a friend – maybe even a _good_ friend – despite the kissing thing. But maybe that's not what he wants? He thought they'd been clear where their relationship stood after last night, but maybe he was wrong. 

“He _made_ them,” Lauren repeats with a little laugh. “Amazing.”

It doesn't feel like the end of the conversation, but Ashton decides it is anyway and, after dropping the plate in the kitchen, he climbs the stairs in twos and hides in his room for the rest of the day.

* * *

He honestly intends to keep his distance from Luke after that, hoping some good old fashioned avoidance will send a clear message. But the guy is persistent and friendly – the worst kind of combination because blowing him off or flat-out ignoring him make Ashton feel like a dick. And the thing is, he _likes_ Luke because, well, he's a cool dude. It's easy being around him, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the company. He doesn't really keep in contact with anyone from high school, and his friends from university are limited to mostly study groups and party enthusiasts. They're nice enough, and they have their places in his life, but they're not friends. Luke is.

Sort of.

They talk. They talk often, actually. Luke is into texting, so they do that a lot. Ashton's taken to hanging out in the stands during practices instead of hiding in the office, so whenever there's a break, Luke will stop and chat. He drives him home every day after practice and sometimes even in the morning before, if he plans on doing extra training at the gym down the street. And all the while they talk – about music, mostly, but also movies and books because they both like to read. They talk about hockey sometimes, too, but not often since Ashton doesn't really follow any teams, and Luke reasons he knows at least fifty other people who will willingly discuss stats and trades and a bunch of other stuff that Ashton was never particularly interested in. 

But they don't really see each other outside of the rink or Luke's car. There's a comfort factor there that Ashton can't push past. Since the brownie incident, he's been careful to keep Luke out of his house. He wants to be friends – just friends, and he thinks Luke knows that. He could straight-up tell him, but that's pretty much what he did after the party. It feels cruel to repeat himself and make Luke relive the rejection. Not that he thinks he's some great prize or anything, but, you know, rejection stings no matter who it's from. 

So instead of dealing with anything, he lets it fester.

* * *

“How do you feel about waffles?”

Ashton rubs at his eyes, blinks blearily at the time on his phone. It's too early for Luke to be calling him asking about waffles. It's too early for Luke to be calling him, period.

“What?”

“Waffles. Yes or no?”

“They're good?” Ashton answers slowly, still shaking off the haze of sleep.

“And bacon?”

“It's also good?”

“Great. I'm picking you up in twenty minutes.”

He sits up, stretching an arm above his head until his spine cracks satisfyingly. “For what?”

“Breakfast. Obviously. See you in twenty.” 

And before Ashton can start to disagree, Luke hangs up, leaving him a little dazed and a lot scattered as he scrambles to change and brush his teeth. He jogs down the stairs as quietly as he can, shutting the door with a barely audible 'click' and waits for Luke to arrive. 

He pulls up a couple minutes later, music playing too loudly for the time of day. As he approaches the car, Luke waves through the open window, nudging the volume on the radio down, much to the complaint of the guys seated in the back.

“Morning,” Luke chirps.

“Morning,” Ashton replies, glancing at the guys in the back. He doesn't recognize them from the hockey team but waves anyway.

“Morning,” they chorus back before the one with bleached hair reaches forward and cranks the volume up.

“Mike,” Luke protests as he twists the knob back to a more palatable level. “It's too early for the music to be so loud.”

“It's never too early for Sum 41,” the guys gripes and flicks the dial up before settling back in his seat.

Luke rolls his eyes and turns the music down minutely, both of his friends badly singing along to the song as they turn around and head back to the main road.

“Michael, Calum: Ashton,” Luke introduces briefly, jerking his thumb back vaguely once they're stopped at a light. Ashton waves again, and the one with the bleached hair, Michael, calls out a hello, while the other, Calum, returns his wave.

“Sorry about them,” he says nervously as they merge onto the freeway. “I didn't think they'd come. They're never up this early.”

“I will always get up early for Double Bacon Day,” Michael interjects, Calum nodding in agreement.

“Double Bacon Day?” Ashton questions, glancing at Luke.

“It's this thing they do at our favourite diner,” Luke starts before Michael cuts him off.

“Double Bacon Day is the best day of the week,” Michael announces. “It is a day when bacon lovers across the county can join together and relish the sweet, sweet joy of unlimited bacon.”

“The bacon is not unlimited,” Calum interrupts, looking slightly alarmed and speaking for the first time. He looks as tired as Ashton feels.

“It may as well be, with how much they put on your plate,” Michael continues, unperturbed. “It is a glorious day, and we are truly blessed to have it in our lives.”

Luke laughs while Calum shakes his head. “Are you still high?” he asks and wraps his hands around his head to hold him steady while he peers into his eyes. Michael smacks his hands away and flips him off, to which Calum shrugs. He turns to Ashton and says solemnly, “He doesn't normally sound like such a tool.” Ashton just nods, taking his word for it.

While Michael continues to wax poetic about Double Bacon Day, they speed down the freeway, residential areas giving way to sprawling foliage and the odd industrial complex. He doesn't often drive this way, headed into the interior. Whenever he and his family went on holiday, they always went down to the coast to enjoy the beaches. His mom loves the ocean and would spend hours playing in the surf with him when he was little, then Lauren when she was young, then Harry. They haven't been down for awhile; they should go soon.

Luke signals, sliding into the exit lane. Ashton checks the window, but there doesn't seem to be anything out here. They crest a hill as they exit, and it appears – a tiny diner with a grungy neon sign that reads 'Lily's' in huge bold letters. From their direction, it was basically impossible to see, the hill blocking out the squat building. He never would have seen it from the road. 

Luke pulls into the gravel parking lot and picks a spot near the front door, Michael and Calum spilling out of the back before the car is fully stopped. They eagerly push through the door as Luke and Ashton climb out of the car and follow them into the restaurant. 

Nothing could have prepared him for Double Bacon Day. The scent of it is overpowering, assaulting him the moment the door opens. It makes his mouth water just standing there. A waitress appears several seconds later, greeting them and hurriedly placing them in a booth near the back. The place is packed, the sound of utensils scraping against plates and amicable conversation filling the air.

“I recommend the Belgian waffles,” Luke says as Ashton begins to scan his menu. “They make the whipped cream in house, and it's amazing.”

“Dude, no. Eggs, hashbrowns, biscuit, done,” Calum suggests, not even bothering to open his menu.

“And bacon,” Michael adds.

Calum nods. “And bacon.”

Pork seems mandatory. Ashton orders some eggs, a waffle, and, yes, bacon, along with a coffee. Their waitress plucks a clean cup off a passing tray and fills it neatly before taking their order to the kitchen. He dumps a bunch of creamer in and some sugar before taking a sip, the caffeine hitting him a moment later.

“How did you find this place?” he asks, surveying the restaurant.

“Calum doesn't sleep,” Luke says.

“I do so sleep.”

“Not when normal people sleep.”

Calum waves him off. “Mike and I often get the munchies late at night, and this is the only place close that's open twenty-four hours.”

Considering they drove twenty minutes out of town to get here, Ashton doesn't really think the diner could be described as close.

“Plus, promises of food are the only way we get to see our star athlete.” He gives Luke a cheesy smile and dreamy eyes as he rests his hand over top of his. Luke flips his hand palm up and locks their fingers together, batting his eyelashes until they both laugh and separate.

Their food arrives shortly after, bacon literally falling off the plates. A silence settles among them as they dig in.

“So do you guys play hockey, too?” Ashton asks once everyone's stopped shoveling food into their mouths like it's their last meal.

Calum and Michael glance between each other before laughing. 

“No, they don't,” Luke answers for them, even though Ashton kind of got that already.

“We used to,” Michael amends. 

“But then they discovered pot,” Luke says tiredly, like he's told this story many times before. “And sports weren't such a priority.”

Calum and Michael grin at each other and nod. Ashton smiles minutely before returning to his breakfast, piercing the yoke of his egg and watching the bright yellow goo ooze across his plate. Calum and Michael chatter away about a band Ashton's never heard of, Luke contributing intermittently but mostly just laughing as their discussion gets a little heated and Michael and Calum get more and more into each other's faces. Ashton finishes his coffee as Calum flicks Michael's nose, smirking at him when all Michael does is yelp. He retaliates by licking a stripe along the side of Calum's face, and they break into a squabble, swatting at each other while Luke just watches, an amused, slightly exasperated look on his face.

“Are they always like this?” Ashton asks, finding himself smiling fondly.

“Pretty much,” Luke says. “It's their way of foreplay.”

“Oh,” Ashton stumbles. “They're together?”

“No,” Luke says simply, taking a sip of his coffee. “It's complicated.”

He doesn't reply to that, instead just settling next to Luke and enjoying the presence of other people.

* * *

Calum and Michael become a regular part of his life after that. They decide they like Ashton and set their minds to befriending him. They're just as determined as Luke – maybe even more so – and he finds himself letting them take him out more often than not.

He doesn't mind, if he's being honest. As the hockey season picks up, more and more of Luke's time becomes occupied by training and games. They still talk fairly often; Luke gets in the habit of sending him a good morning text every day, which at first threw him off, but now he quite likes it, finds himself even sort of looking forward to them. But Luke doesn't invite him to do things as much, which, without Calum and Michael, he probably would have noticed more. As it is, the two keep him busy enough, seeming to constantly have plans. 

He likes Michael and Calum. They're good guys at heart, although they smoke up more than he cares for. Part of him is relieved when they call him up for whatever adventure they have planned for the evening because then he knows for sure at least one of them will be sober. Michael's apparently broke his arm twice due to stupid stunts they've pulled while either high or drunk or both, which doesn't instill a lot of faith. He doesn't mind babysitting them, though. For the most part it just means making frequent snack runs and watching weird art films late at night that he secretly kind of enjoys. 

But as much as he likes them, they aren't a replacement for Luke. He misses him, if he's honest, which is... surprising. He hadn't realized how fond he'd become of the guy until he wasn't around. 

_I miss you_ , he types out one night after dropping some food off with Cal and Mike. His thumb hovers over the send button. It's too much, he thinks. Still, he wants to send it. He stares at the message until it blurs, letters running together confusingly. 

He erases the message.

* * *

Ashton quickly learns that the worst part about hanging out with Calum and Michael is how touchy they are. They literally never stop touching each other. Always piled on top of each other or sitting unnecessarily close, Ashton starts to feel like a third wheel whenever they hang out. They invite Ashton to join them, scooting over on the couch or opening their arms for him to nestle in, and he does sometimes, but it always ends up feeling weird for him, mostly because more often than not, Michael ends up half-spooning Calum, chin hooked over his shoulder, and Ashton just feels like he's intruding.

“How do you _stand_ it?” he asks Luke on his way home from school, his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. 

“I snuggle in closer with them,” Luke says, and he can hear the amusement in his voice.

“But they're so...” He flounders for the right word. “Domestic. I feel out of place.”

“They like you, don't worry,” Luke assures him. “They're just affectionate guys. They want you to cuddle, trust me.”

He tries his best to adjust to the touching, but it's still weird for him. He settles for sitting on the opposite end of the couch, kicking his feet into Michael's lap, where a hand automatically settles on his calf. This seems to be a happy medium for both parties, and Ashton finally feels like he can settle. He snaps a picture of his legs draped over Michael and Calum's bodies, sends it to Luke without any text.

Luke sends him back a picture of himself, giving him a thumbs up and a big, cheesy grin. He saves it to his phone and tries to not feel weird about it.

* * *

“There's a game next Friday,” Luke tells him as they're driving home one day, the first time Ashton's actually seen him in person for a couple weeks. Feldmann has been working them extra hard lately, making the team stay late to go over plays and strategy, meaning Luke can't drive him home or talk to him during practices all that often. They'd played a couple scrimmage games against some teams outside of the league for fun and had actually won most of them, and Coach doesn't want them to slack or get cocky. Ashton understands but that doesn't mean he likes it.

“Yeah.” Ashton doesn't tell him he probably knows the game schedule better than half the team since he's usually the guy they call last minute to cover the shifts for that night while everyone else actually attends the game. He's never minded before but now he kind of regrets always saying yes. He actually cares about the outcome for once, and he'd like to be able to watch the whole thing uninterrupted. He knows the guys have been killing themselves getting ready for the season, and he'd like to support them.

“You gonna come?”

“I guess. I have to work so I'll be there.”

“Oh.”

“I'll be cheering for you guys like crazy.”

Luke smiles weakly. “Great.”

The air is tight between them as they approach Ashton's street. He feels guilty, like he's done something wrong by not being able to attend properly. Luke doesn't seem angry, just... sad, maybe. But sad doesn't seem right, as Ashton examines Luke coasting through the familiar streets on autopilot, not seeming to actually be watching where he's going. There are deep circles under his eyes and a slope to his shoulders, and Ashton realizes for the first time how exhausted he looks.

“Coach working you pretty hard, huh?” he says conversationally.

Luke nods without looking at him, staring ahead unblinkingly. He flicks his signal on and turns down Ashton's street without shoulder-checking. 

“Not too hard, right?”

“Mhm.”

Ashton purses his lips. “You okay?”

“M'fine,” he says as they pull to the curb in front of his house. He shuts the engine off and offers him a half-smile. “Just tired.”

The streetlights make the shadows under his eyes look even deeper. His eyes are dull, and he looks too pale. He looks drained and it worries him, makes him want to wrap Luke up in a warm blanket with some soup and put him to bed. But he's not Luke's mom, and maybe such fierce protectiveness is weird to be feeling this early into their friendship, if at all. So he just says a quiet 'okay' and climbs out of the car, glancing back a couple times as he heads up the walk. Luke doesn't leave until he's inside. Ashton hovers by the window as he pulls back onto the road, jaw tense.

* * *

Ashton wishes he hadn't agreed to work the day of the game because the team is _killing_ it. All that practice has apparently paid off as they skate circles around the opposing team, racking up five goals in the first period alone. The stands shake above him as he flits around the storage space, trying to dig up some more disposable cups for the food stands. The rink is busy, which isn't unusual for a game night, but it's certainly never this loud, with people screaming and stomping their hearts out, blasting air-horns and shaking cowbells.

A huge swell of sound echoes above him as a horn blares, signaling another goal. Ashton can't help the grin that tugs at his mouth. He hustles back up to the main floor to drop the stacks of cups off before finding an empty seat near the back next to a pillar he can half-hide behind, watching the game eagerly. 

He's never seen the team work this well together. They move like one body, gliding across the ice seamlessly. No matter where the puck is flicked, there's someone there to catch it and back-up his teammate. It's pretty incredible to see, to be honest, and Ashton has never been more proud of his hometown.

The other team edges the puck past the goalie for their first point of the evening and the rink rumbles with sounds of displeasure. It barely registers for him; one goal against the six the team has already scored seems insignificant.

The second period passes with little event. Neither team scores any more goals, but the game is fast and rough, with penalties abound. Ashton doesn't get to watch much of it, too preoccupied with a broken toilet and a sink full of vomit in the men's room. 

He's finally free to catch the last couple minutes of the last period. It's a power play for the opposing team, Zack, a hulking, gentle guy Ashton's talked to maybe once, pressed up against the glass of the penalty box as his teammates skillfully pass the puck back and forth. They take a few shots, but the goalie blocks them all, and they scramble to catch the puck again. The rink is tense in their seats, a scream frozen in everyone's throats as the clock races towards the final buzzer. Adam catches a stray shot from the opposing team and flicks it to Luke. He races towards the other end of the rink, and Ashton holds his breath as Luke winds up and smacks the puck straight into the net.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game and the arena explodes. Everyone is out of their seats cheering and hugging one another. The screen above the rink flashes a technicolour 'G O A L' while loud, celebratory music pumps through the speakers. Ashton watches the team pile onto each other, the benched players tripping onto the ice to join the victory as the team hoists Luke in the air. He rips off his helmet and thrusts it in the air, cheering and trying his hardest to smile around his mouth guard. Ashton laughs at his dopey grin, a warmth spreading through his chest as the team settles down and skates over to shake hands with the away team.

The crowd quiets down but there's still an undeniable energy vibrating throughout the arena. It makes it easy to slip down to the locker rooms without his coworkers noticing; he can clean later. Right now, he wants to congratulate everyone. The away team filters through first, looking beat and exhausted. He congratulates them on a good game and they smile halfheartedly at him before disappearing into their locker room.

He hears the team before he sees them, their shouts echoing in the quiet of the lower section of the rink. They come spilling out into the hallway, whooping and high-fiving. Ashton can't help but laugh when he sees them, their energy infectious. A couple guys slap hands with him as they head to the showers, and Ashton returns their enthusiasm wholeheartedly. Adam tries to pull him in for a hug but he ducks it, so he ruffles his hair instead, and Ashton just laughs. 

When he sees Luke, he expects another high-five or maybe a bro-hug, but instead he beams, looking so alive and radiant it makes his heart clench curiously. He sweeps Ashton up in his arms and lifts him off the ground, swinging him around before setting him down again. 

“Holy shit!” he cries, grinning down at him. He doesn't say anything back, too stunned by being picked up like a rag doll. “That was awesome!” he yells when Ashton doesn't reply.

“Yeah,” Ashton stutters once he finds his voice. “You guys were great. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Luke says warmly and pulls him in for another hug. He's damp with sweat, and it should gross Ashton out but he finds himself leaning into the hug more than he'd like to admit.

“Did you see my goal?” he asks excitedly.

“Yeah, I did. It was amazing.”

Luke pulls a hand through his hair, pushing his wet fringe back on his head. “I can't believe we won.”

“First time in a long time.”

“I know!” He lets out another whoop. “This is awesome.”

Ashton smiles again, can't hold it back.

“Hemmings!” someone calls from the locker room. “Coach wants to talk. Come on!”

“I gotta go,” he says. “I think the team's going out for pizza later. Want to come?”

“Can't. Gotta clean up here.”

Luke frowns. “Oh. Right. I'll text you, okay? We'll celebrate together.”

Ashton laughs as his stomach does a little flip. “Sure.”

He watches Luke hustle into the change room before heading back to the main floor, where he and the rest of the cleaning staff begin gathering up the trash littering the arena. He hates this part usually, but tonight he's in good spirits, humming to himself as he sweeps up crumpled napkins and discarded cups. They _won_. He can't believe it. 

A couple members of the team pop up and say goodbye, leaving through the upper doors instead of the more private ones below. He keeps an eye out for Luke, but he never shows. He doesn't let it bother him, figuring he was too swept up in the victory to think about saying goodbye. He doesn't blame him. 

There's a fair amount of people working today, so the general clean-up doesn't take as long. Once the seats are all wiped down and the floors have been mopped, he sends everyone home a little early. The only thing left to do is resurface the ice, and he kind of wants to do that alone tonight.

The Zamboni reluctantly rumbles to life. Ashton coaxes the machine onto the ice and begins the relaxing process of smoothing over all the deep cuts gouged into the surface. It's almost a shame to gloss over, he thinks. All the players' fancy footwork leave pretty, swirling patterns on certain parts of the ice. Other parts, where the most action happens, are just shredded and cut up.

He goes extra slow tonight, enjoying the ride. He loops carefully up and down the ice, cranking the wheel with one hand while the other taps a beat on his thigh. Once he's done, he pauses to appreciate his work, the ice now shiny and new. It's calming, almost like a rebirth of sorts. 

He locks up the Zamboni and does one last lap around the rink to make sure everything is in order. He flicks out lights as he goes, leaving the big white lights that shine onto the ice for last. They make the ice glisten so that it looks like porcelain, and for some reason, he loves that. He takes a moment to admire the flawless expanse of ice before he turns off the lights and locks up, heading home for the night.

* * *

There was a time when Ashton thought he might want to be an English major, and then he took English classes and discovered it's all a bunch of fucking bullshit. He's learning a lot of English professors like to hear themselves talk, and it's quite possibly the worst.

“I'm going to die,” his deskmate whispers and pretends to brain herself on the corner of her textbook as their professor continues to explain the significance of alienation in Frankenstein. They've heard this lecture at least three times before, but he doesn't seem to remember or care. The people seated around them catch his deskmate's theatrics and snicker before imitating her, all pretending to knock themselves out and sprawl across the tables, eyes crossed and tongues out. Ashton stifles a laugh behind a yawn, shaking his head and trying his hardest to pay attention. 

He finds his mind slipping again, focusing instead on a silly doodle of a robot in the corner of his page. He draws a little skeleton with hearts for eyes next to it, then a great, sprawling geometric design underneath that ends up taking up almost the entire page. He scrubs at his eyes and directs his attention back to the front of the room, flipping to a clean page and attempting to take diligent notes.

In all fairness, his professor does seem passionate. It's annoying that he repeats himself so much, but he thinks that's maybe because the guy is a little scattered and just forgets that he's already lectured on a lot of this stuff already. He tries hard. Ashton gives him credit for that. 

“Ash, hey,” his deskmate hisses, kicking at his foot. When Ashton looks at her she jerks her head towards his bag, which is buzzing faintly. “Is that your phone?”

He leans down and slides his vibrating phone out of the front pocket. He intends to ignore the call, but it's Lauren so he answers it, head ducked and voice low.

“Hey, I'm in class. I'll call you–”

“Ash, I messed up, we need help–”

Something cold settles in his chest as he starts gathering his things, shoving his books in his bags hurriedly as he tries to maneuver around the maze of chairs and tables. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, just Harry – I took him to the park because he was driving me _crazy_ just bouncing off the walls and shit.”

“Language,” he warns, hoisting his bag over his head as he hustles out of the classroom. 

“We were just hanging out, everything was fine. I looked way for, like, a _minute_ , Ash, I _swear_ and then he was on the ground and his arm was bent all weird and I didn't know what to do, and I didn't want to call Mom 'cause this is the first time she's let me babysit, right? And I don't want her to feel like that was a mistake, but I think it was because I broke Harry, oh, my God.” She's crying now and it makes Ashton's heart hurt in the worst way.

“It's okay, Ren, it's all going to be just fine. Don't worry, okay?” he soothes. He's walking stiff and fast-paced across campus without any direction. “Where are you?”

“At the hospital,” she blubbers. “The Northshore one. It was closest.”

“Have they taken X-rays or anything yet?”

“No, we're in the emergency room.”

“Okay.” He pushes out a gust of air. “Okay. Is Harry feeling alright? Can I talk to him?”

He hears some shuffling as the phone is handed off. “Ashton?” Harry's voice comes through the line, a little unsteady.

“Hey, punk. How you feeling?”

“My arm hurts,” he sniffles.

“Don't worry, the doctors will fix you up soon. Are you feeling okay otherwise?”

“Yeah,” he says a little despondently.

“Great. I'm gonna be there as soon as I can, got that?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. Can I talk to your sister again?” He's jogging at this point, grip tight around his phone. He doesn't have the car today, but he can't take the bus; it'll take too long. “Lauren?” he asks after some more shuffling.

“Here.”

“I'm on my way now. If the doctor can see Harry before I get there, let them. I can sort out the paperwork and stuff later.”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he says because it seems like she needs to hear it.

“Love you,” she says back shakily, and then they hang up, and Ashton just keeps jogging, headed in the direction of the hospital.

It's unrealistic for him to run all the way there, but his mind is racing and the burn of the cool air in his lungs is grounding. He checks the time again, even though he doesn't need to. He should call his mom. He does. She doesn't pick up so he leaves a message, trying to sound as optimistic as he can, despite not knowing how good or bad the situation is.

He runs for another ten minutes before he decides he needs a ride. As much as he jokes about having a personal taxi service in the form of the hockey team, when it comes down to it, none of the numbers in his phone look appealing. Calling any of them just seems pathetic. He could call Calum or Michael, maybe, but he's pretty sure they're in school. Plus, neither of them have their own cars, and he figures it's unlikely their parents let them drive their's to school. He groans, frustrated and keeps scrolling, fingertips going numb from the exposure. He should have bought real gloves instead of these stupid fingerless ones. 

He's about to call a taxi when a message from Luke pops up. He almost drops his phone in relief, doesn't bother reading the text, already dialing his number.

“Hello?” 

“I need you to pick me up, and take me to the Northshore Hospital,” he says instead of a proper greeting.

“What? Why?” His voice is high, alarmed. Probably shouldn't have lead with the hospital. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just really need a ride.”

“Where are you?”

He glances around for a street sign, rattles off the address of a nearby coffee shop when he sees one.

“I'll be there in ten,” he says before hanging up. 

He keeps walking, hands stuffed into his pockets in the hopes they'll warm up some. It's just a broken bone, he reminds himself. Ashton's had worse injuries before. Nearly everyone breaks a bone at least once in their life. His mom's insurance will cover it. There's nothing to worry about. 

He keeps repeating this to himself as he trudges towards the hospital but it does nothing to calm his nerves. His heart keeps ramming against his chest, like it's trying to punch its way through all the muscle and bone keeping it in place. He focuses on the erratic pump of it, trying to slow its pace by sheer force of will. He tries to time it with his heavy footfalls, thick-soled boots thudding loud against the frozen pavement.

He's so concentrated he doesn't hear the horn blaring until Luke's right next to him, pushing the passenger door open with a pinched expression on his face. 

“Everything okay?” he asks once Ashton's inside.

“I don't know,” he says because he's suddenly exhausted, and the thought of lying and saying yes when he doesn't honestly know seems like a gargantuan effort. 

Luke shoulder checks before merging into traffic. “Is it your mom?”

“No, it's Harry. He broke his arm, probably.”

“Oh.” The tense expression melts off his face. It does nothing to ease the anxiety mounting in his chest, and Luke notices this. They roll to a halt at a red light, and Luke turns his head to face him.

“I've broken and fractured more shit than I can remember, and I'm fine. Harry will be too.”

He knows he's just trying to help, but his chest is so tight and the blood is rushing in his ears and he can't focus, he can't think about anything other than making sure Harry is okay, that everything is alright. For the sake of his sanity, though, he smiles tightly and mutters, “I know. You're right.”

Luke smiles reassuringly at him and turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green. When they're about ten minutes away from the hospital and about fifteen minutes into an uneasy silence, he reaches over to where Ashton's hand is fidgeting on his knee and takes it, gives it a tight squeeze before pulling back and resting it on the gear shift between them. He leaves it there like an option, and Ashton takes it, gripping his hand rigidly and determinedly staring forward. He chances a glance at him, but his face remains passive as he keeps his eyes straight ahead as well. He catches him smiling to himself later, just before they pull into the hospital parking lot.

They roll to a stop in front of the door. Luke withdraws his hand, and Ashton instantly grapples for something else to hold, settling on digging his fingernails into his palm.

“Thank you,” Ashton says.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Luke reminds him, and he nods before climbing out of the car.

The gust of hospital stench as he blows through the doors barely registers, even though it's one of his least favourite smells. He scans the emergency room briefly before making a beeline to the nurses' station. He gives the woman seated there Harry's name and waits impatiently as she searches him up on the computer. Once she locates him, she sends Ashton through the doors that section off the private rooms from the waiting area, leading him through several turns. He's glad she's guiding him because he thinks he probably would have gotten lost without her, too keyed up to focus as the room numbers blur past. 

They stop outside a closed door, and she instructs him to wait. He takes a seat in one of the scratchy chairs a few paces down the hall, resting his head in his hands once she rounds a corner and disappears. He expels an uneven breath. His heart is still hammering away so he focuses on the laces of his boots to distract himself, tracking the zigzag of the string with his eyes over and over again.

He probably only waits about half an hour before Harry comes through the door with Lauren crowding behind him, looking shaken and pale. He runs over to them, which is maybe a little dramatic but he's so relieved to see them he doesn't care. He pulls them both to him once they're close, burying his face in Lauren's hair and clutching Harry to his side. Harry squirms in his hold but Lauren presses closer, clinging to him and letting out a weak sob.

“You did so good, Laur, absolutely perfect,” he murmurs into her hair. He kisses the top of her head and pulls her even tighter as she cries. He lets Harry go to encompass her fully, and after a moment he feels Harry wrap his good arm around her as well. They stand there, holding each other, until Lauren starts to draw back, wiping at her eyes and sniffling. 

“All good?” he asks gently, an arm still wrapped around her just in case. She nods and he gives her another quick hug anyway. “What about you, punk?” He turns to Harry, crouching down so they're more level.

“M'good,” he says, already picking at his cast. He stops once he catches Ashton watching him, sheepish.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It's only then that Ashton turns his attention to the doctor who, to her credit, had been busying herself with some files instead of eavesdropping. He clears his throat and sticks out his hand to introduce himself. The doctor takes it and tells him Harry's arm is broken in two places, but that the breaks were clean and easy to set. 

“It should heal in about six weeks, ten at the most,” she explains, scribbling something down. “If it starts looking swollen, pop some ice on there and elevate the arm. It'll get itchy and smelly, but try not to stick anything into the cast, okay?” She directs the last part to Harry, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Great.” She tears off a piece of paper and hands it to Ashton. “Here's a prescription for painkillers if the over-the-counter stuff isn't cutting it. It shouldn't be that painful, but just in case.”

Ashton nods and thanks her. She brushes it off and walks them to a different nurses' station, where Ashton deals with as much of the paperwork as he can. Lauren did a pretty good job filling out most of the questions. All he has to do is write down his mom's insurance information, and then the nurse is telling him they'll send the bill in the mail and to have a good day. 

He wraps an arm around Lauren, and takes Harry's good hand in his as they head back towards the emergency room exit.

“Did you tell Mum?” Lauren asks.

“Yeah. I left a message.”

She nods and purses her lips.

“She's not going to be mad.”

“She _told_ me to stay home.”

“It'll be okay. I'll be on your team.” He kisses the top of her head again, and she resists, wiggling out of his grasp. She slides her hand into his a moment later, though, and he smiles.

They turn the corner into the waiting room, and Luke is there. He freezes. Harry and Lauren stumble backwards, looking up at him questioningly. 

“Um,” he goes, glancing around the room like the dated magazines will explain why Luke is sitting there – well, standing now – looking... concerned, he guesses.

“I thought you'd need a ride home,” he says, and Ashton realizes that, yes, they do. His initial reaction is to refuse him, to call his mom instead. He feels like Luke's done enough, dropping everything and driving him over here in the middle of the day. Plus his mom is probably worried enough as it is, probably wants to see them and make sure everyone is okay.

He opens his mouth to say no, but Lauren cuts him off. “That'd be great. Thank you.”

Luke acknowledges her with a smile but turns his eyes back to Ashton, waiting for his answer. He feels Lauren tug his arm forward and she starts leading him towards the door, deciding for him. He stares at the back of her head, willing her to turn around, but she just keeps marching forward, following Luke to his car once he catches up.

They get Harry situated first, and then Ashton makes to climb in the back next to him, but Lauren steps in his way, looking at him crossly. She takes the seat next to Harry and pointedly shuts the door, doesn't stop staring at him until he sits in the passenger seat. 

The ride is mostly silent with Harry occasionally rambling off some questions to Luke about his car, which he answers as best he can. He catches Lauren monitoring him in the rearview mirror more than once and is annoyed that he's always the one to break eye contact. He's tense for the first few minutes, worried Luke will reach for his hand again. He doesn't, and he relaxes marginally. 

Once they arrive at home, he's unbuckling his seat belt and trying to climb out of the car before it comes to a complete stop to help Harry, but again, Lauren beats him to it, giving him a stern, “I got this” before sliding out of the back with ease, Harry close behind.

“Everything good?” Luke asks once the door slams shut, and Ashton nods, pushes out a wavering breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. 

“Yeah. It's just a broken arm.”

“Still, that's scary. You weren't there, you couldn't know that was all.”

He nods again and feels tears prick his eyes. He doesn't want to cry at all, but especially not in front of Luke. There's nothing to even be upset about, but he can't help it, the stress of the past few hours crashing over him in one, huge tidal wave. He breaks down and lets a few tears slip out, shoulders shaking as he tries to keep quiet.

Luke remains in his seat, stricken, arm poised in the air to pat him on the back or something, he guesses, but it doesn't connect, hovering awkwardly. 

“I'm sorry,” he manages. “I'm–” A fresh wave of tears chokes him off, and he drops his head into his hands.

“It's okay,” Luke says, the uncertainty clear in his voice. Hesitantly, he places his hand on the middle of his back and rubs jerky circles while Ashton rides out the wave of emotion overwhelming him. They stay in that position until Ashton pulls himself together, wiping pitifully at his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says again, this time a little more clearly. “Today was just – it was a lot.”

Luke just nods and removes his hand. 

“Thanks for everything. Driving us and, um, dealing with that. With me.”

“It's nothing.” He shrugs and half-smiles at Ashton in a way that makes him want to throw up. He clears his throat after a moment passes and gathers his things, climbing out of the car as gracefully as he can. He thanks Luke again, says goodbye, and waits until his taillights fade away before going inside.

* * *

Once she's sure everyone is safe and feeling fine, his mother seriously considers grounding Lauren. She sits at the kitchen table with a mug of tea after everyone's gone to bed and buries her face in her hands, inhaling deep, sharp breaths.

“It was an accident, Mum,” he tells her once she's calm.

She sighs. “I know.”

“You can't punish her for that. She's upset with herself enough as it is.”

“She didn't listen to me.” She runs a hand through her fringe, fluffing it up. “I _told_ her not to go out.”

“I know.” He takes the seat next to her. “She feels really bad, Mum. You don't need to add onto it.”

She sighs again, takes a sip of her tea. She decides on a mild punishment that Ashton doesn't try to dispute it. It's fair, and besides, he doesn't pretend that he's a real parent. He may do his best to help out, but he didn't raise Lauren or Harry – that's all his Mum, and he won't ever forget it. He wishes her good night and they hug before he goes upstairs.

He passes Lauren's room on the way to his. The door is propped open just enough to see inside. He pauses, rapping on the door frame to grab her attention.

“A month of dishes,” he tells her. “And restricted phone use.”

She sits up on her bed. “That's it?”

“Yep.”

“How did you swing that?”

He leans against the door jam. “I didn't. That's what Mum thought was fair.”

She huffs out a brief, elated laugh. “Wow.” She flops back on her bed, and Ashton starts to push off the doorway to get ready for bed. It's been a long day and all he wants to do is pass out for an eternity. 

“Did you and Luke have a nice talk?” she asks as before he can leave.

“We didn't really talk.”

She sits up again. “You were out there for awhile.”

“I guess.” 

“But you weren't talking.”

He should be able to tell her that he had a bit of a break down, and under normal circumstances maybe he would, but today has been rough on everybody, and her eyes are still puffy from crying. He doesn't want to put his shit on her on top of everything else. 

“Nope.”

“Were you making out?” she asks, grinning eagerly at him.

“Christ,” he huffs, scrubbing a hand over his face and laughing. “No. We're just friends.”

She frowns. “Why? He likes you, obviously, and you like him. I can tell.”

“I just want to be friends,” he says, not bothering to fight her on Luke's feelings.

She scoffs at him. “Okay. Sure.”

He's too tired to get into this anymore, so he wishes her sweet dreams and slips into his own room, drifting to sleep shortly after.

* * *

He hides in the office the next Saturday the team has practice. Adam pesters him all morning while they prep the rink, jittery about the game on Monday and letting it show. Ashton lets him run his mouth, not listening and only half-paying attention to the work. He almost concusses himself twice trying to fix a leaky pipe in the bathroom, not that Adam notices. He scuttles off to the office once he spots Luke entering through the front door, burying himself in paperwork while Adam eyes him suspiciously. He doesn't approach him, and Ashton is thankful, immersing himself further into his books until he hears the team leaving.

When he locks up, Luke is waiting by the door, like he expects. His stomach twists upon seeing him, but he steels himself, straightening up and forcing himself to make eye contact when Luke spots him. He fully expects it to be awkward but it's decidedly... not. Luke just smiles at him like always does, opens the door for him like he always does, and drives him home like he always does. He plays him a couple songs from a new punk band he thinks Ashton will like, and they spend the ride talking about that. His ego is soothed by the relative normalcy of Luke's behaviour, but it doesn't feel right to just ignore his moment the other day.

So when they pull up outside his house, he unbuckles but doesn't get out of his seat, swallowing thickly before speaking.

“I just want to say thanks, again, for all that stuff the other day. I really appreciate it.”

Luke shifts in his seat, shrugs. “It was nothing.”

“And I'm sorry for, like, dumping all over you in the car. That was... not great.”

He furrows his brow. “Dumping all over me?”

God, he's going to make him say it. He fiddles with his fringe, pushing it back, then forward again. “You know. I kind of cried a lot.”

“It was a stressful day.”

“Yeah, I know. I just – I didn't need to take it out on you.”

Luke makes a face at him, scrunching his nose and wrinkling his brow further. “Man, you cried. You're making it sound like you screamed at me or something. Seriously, it's not a big deal.”

He's overwhelmed. He didn't expect this to go as smoothly as it has, and he keeps wanting to apologize but he also kind of wants to hug Luke and never let go. It's embarrassing how badly he wants to be held, suddenly so weary. He thinks he might cry again honestly, which is ridiculous. But there's a great comfort in knowing he _could_ cry right now if he wanted and Luke wouldn't make him feel guilty about it.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says instead of dissolving into a weeping mess. “I'll cook you dinner or something. Or we could go out? Whatever you prefer. I just feel like I owe you.”

Luke lights up a little at that but deflates a moment later. “That would be great, but I can't.”

A punch of disappointment hits him in the chest. “Oh.”

“I'd really like to,” Luke rushes to say. “It's just,” He scratches at the back of his neck, adjusts his cap on his head. “I'm grounded,” he mumbles.

Ashton raises his eyebrows. “Grounded?”

“Um, yeah.” Luke resolutely avoids his eyes, splotches of pink dotting his cheeks.

“Why?”

He fixes his cap again, the blush deepening. “When you asked for a ride to the hospital? I kind of ditched school to get you.”

School. Right. School is a thing that Luke goes to. School is a thing Luke can't miss for no reason, unlike Ashton. Because missing school without reason is a thing he can get in trouble for, and Ashton made him do that thing. He's the _worst._

“Shit,” he says.

“Yeah. My mom is pretty mad.” He smiles sheepishly. 

“I made you miss school. I got you _grounded_.” He shakes his head. “I'm awful.”

Luke laughs. “You're not. You would've done the same for me, I'm sure. It's just for the week anyway. No biggie.”

In that moment, he wants to kiss him. He really, truly wants to kiss Luke with all of his being. He wants to crawl into his lap and smother the guy in kisses because he's so kind and wonderful and perfect and he's been putting up with all of his weird boundaries for weeks and he ditched _school_ for him when he called without a second thought and that, for some reason, is just too fucking sweet. So he shuts down the part of him that freaks out any time he has vaguely real feelings for anyone as he reaches for the front of Luke's jacket, pulling him in and slotting their lips together like it's the easiest thing in the world. Luke doesn't react right away, but he catches up eventually, easing into him and cupping his face with one hand. His thumb brushes Ashton's cheekbone, and it's such a small gesture but it feels amazing. He tightens his grip on his jacket, the same denim one he wore the first time they met, and tries to press closer to him.

Luke is the first to pull away, stroking his thumb across his cheek again before he does so. His eyes are bright and he's wearing a bashful, close-mouthed smile that makes the dimple in his cheek stand out. He looks elated – elated because _he_ kissed him. He did that. He can't believe it.

“This isn't going to be like last time is it?” he almost-whispers. They're close enough that he doesn't have to speak much louder.

“No,” he answers, a weight lifting off his shoulders as the word leaves him. “I like you,” he stutters, averting his eyes. His hand is still fisted in Luke's jacket, and he lets it go so he can slump back in his seat, bent awkwardly so he can still face him.

“I like you too,” he stammers, and, when Ashton chances a glance at him, he's also looking away and flushing. He leans across the gear shift and kisses Luke's cheek, enjoying the tiny, surprised squeak it earns him. 

He stays half-across the gear shift so Luke doesn't have to go far when they kiss again. It's deep but over too soon with Luke pulling away again as a pitiful distressed noise dies in Ashton's throat.

“I have to go,” Luke murmurs. His hand is still on Ashton's face, fingertips grazing at the hair behind his ear. “My mom's going to kill me if I'm late.”

He nods, a soft 'okay' slipping out. He gathers his bag, and Luke sneaks another kiss to his cheek before he climbs out onto the sidewalk, Luke promising to call him later.

His stomach somersaults as he unlocks the front door, a pleased smile glued to his face. Lauren greets him with a huge grin and knowing eyes, wiggling her eyebrows briefly.

She goes, “Having another chat with Luke?”

“Shut up,” he replies, but his smile only stretches wider, undermining any bite his words may have had. Lauren just laughs as he skirts past her and up to his room, grinning like an idiot and trying to digest the butterflies that take home in his stomach.

* * *

“You two should go on a date.”

Ashton looks up from his cereal and swallows slowly. “What?”

“You and Luke should go on a date,” Harry says. He has a notebook clutched in his hands. It looks worn and well-loved, yet Ashton's never seen it before. And here he thought he was good at keeping things to himself.

“What makes you think Luke and I are dating?”

“Lauren told me,” he says simply, coming around the table to stand near him. “And you're not dating because you've never been on a date so you should do that so it's official.”

He's a little stunned but says, “Maybe,” before carefully resting his spoon against the lip of his bowl. “Do you have any ideas?”

Harry pulls out the chair next to him and opens up the notebook, flipping past dozens of filled pages. There are some full of text, others a mess of different doodles, but most are mix of both. It reminds him a lot of his own notes.

Finally they arrive at the page Harry is looking for. He smooths the pages and runs his hand along the center of the book to make it lay flat. On the page closest to Ashton is a neatly written “Date Ideas” with a cloud drawn around it. 

“Chasing after someone special, punk?” 

Harry blushes, shoving at him and avoiding his eyes before mumbling, “No.” It doesn't sound very convincing, though, and he files that information away for later.

“Alright, what have you got here?” he asks and scoots his chair closer. Most of the ideas are generic or good for someone Harry's age, but Ashton listens as Harry moves down the list, explaining each date in detail. He think there must be someone because he definitely wouldn't have been filling an entire page with date ideas or plotting out a play-by-play of an evening in his spare time unless it was for a reason. But maybe he's embarrassed and doesn't want to talk about it right now. Ashton can understand that. Besides, he likes listening to Harry's plans. The kid is nothing if not organized.

They sit at the table for almost an hour before they're done, Harry looking slightly more relaxed by the end of it.

“These are great, bud,” he says. “When you're ready to take someone out, I'm sure you'll woo them.”

Harry picks at a bent corner of the notebook, dog-earing it and then smoothing it flat repeatedly. “Do you think mom would let me go on a date?”

Ashton tamps down on the urge to smile. He knew there was someone. “I don't see why she'd say no.”

He starts folding and re-folding the corner more vigorously, makes a noncommittal sound. 

“Is there someone you want to ask out?” Ashton asks gently. He tries his best to sound casual, but he feels a little emotional. His little brother is growing up so much faster than he anticipated. He's not sure how to feel about it.

“Maybe,” Harry says quietly.

Ashton smiles. “You should go for it.”

Harry peers up at him, his fingers stilling on the paper. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile forms on Harry's mouth, and then he's gathering his things, eagerly scribbling something down in his book as he rushes up to his room, calling out a quick 'thank you' over his shoulder. Ashton watches him go, amused. 

He takes his bowl and spoon to the sink, tossing the dregs of cereal and milk into the garbage before rinsing the dishes and leaving them in the sink. He doesn't mean it to, but Harry's list stays on his mind for the rest of the afternoon, as he plugs his way through some reading. He calls Luke later that evening when he's sure he'll be home. His heart skips annoyingly when he picks up, and he wants to roll his eyes at himself. Honestly.

“We should go on a date,” he announces once Luke says hello.

“I'm still grounded,” Luke reminds him.

He frowns. “Right.”

“But we can go out once I'm un-grounded.”

“When's that?”

“I dunno, probably a week or so. Mum might let me off early if I don't screw around the next couple days. I've got detention the rest of the week as well, though.”

It strikes Ashton how young Luke is, still getting grounded and having to serve afternoon detention. It makes him feel old and maybe kind of weird about wanting to date him. Luke's eighteen – an adult, he reminds himself – so it shouldn't be weird but... detention just seems so high school, and, for him, high school seems a million years away.

He grumbles into the phone unknowingly, and Luke laughs at the funny noises. The impatience Ashton feels trumps the small crisis he's having about Luke's age. He wants to go on a date _now_ not in a week. He wants to be able to hold Luke's hand and kiss his stupid, adorable, up-turned nose. He's spent at least the last month in denial about his feelings and has missed out on a sizable amount of personal time with Luke's mouth. He wants to make up for it immediately. He doesn't want to wait any longer.

“What are you allowed to do?” he asks, flopping onto his back and running a hand through his hair.

“Go to school, tutoring sessions, practice.”

“What are you getting tutored in?”

“Nothing. I tutor some kids in math, sometimes physics. I'm kind of crap at explaining physics though.” He laughs again, but Ashton is too focused on the fact that Luke is smart enough to teach other people stuff. He barely passed most of his classes in high school, disinterested and hell-bent on becoming a musician until his senior year when he got kicked out of his band (again) and decided to kick his own ass into gear and at least try to get into university. It worked, sort of. He wasn't valedictorian or anything, but he did okay. Plus, it made his mom happy.

“So you're a genius is what you're telling me,” Ashton says.

“Hardly.”

He sits up abruptly, an idea forming in his mind. “Did you say you can go to hockey practice?”

“Yeah? Mum says it's not fair to punish the team just because I messed up–”

Ashton cuts him off, “Can you meet me at the rink tomorrow? Around, like, seven? Tell your mom you have practice.”

“We don't have practice tomorrow,” Luke says confusedly.

“Your mom doesn't need to know that.”

He clues in at some point, a mischievous tone creeping into his voice. “Okay. See you then.”

They hang up, and Ashton grabs a pillow and hugs it tight.

* * *

He's more than a little giddy the next day, pretending to engross himself in an essay he's revising as the last few families trickle out of the exit as the rink's public hours come to an end. Another hour crawls past before the receptionist and other office-types head home for the day, and finally Ashton can implement his plan. He rushes through his regular check-ups before resurfacing the ice, even speeding through that task more than usual. He lets it set before he starts hauling out the candles, setting up piles upon piles across the rink and on the small table he found in a storage closet. He's lighting the last dozen or so when his phone pings, letting him know Luke is waiting at the front door. He grins in anticipation, quickly finishing up with his candles and hustling to the door to let him in. He flicks off as many lights as he can on his way up, nervously fiddling with his hair and straightening his shirt. He takes a deep breath and shakes out the nerves before he unlocks the door, ushering Luke inside.

He doesn't look much different than usual, his hair tucked back into a beanie instead of a cap. He smells strongly of aftershave, but there's something else under it, rich and welcoming that Ashton thinks is just Luke's natural scent. He's wearing that dumb denim jacket Ashton knows is too thin for the weather, as well as jeans and a striped shirt that looks soft and worn. They hover in front of each other uncertainly for a moment before Luke wraps on arm around him for a hug, brushing his lips lightly against his cheek as they part. It awakens the butterflies in his stomach, and he kind of wants to die. 

“Are we going to run drills or something?” Luke goes.

Ashton giggles, shaking his head. His nerves seem to triple instantly as he leads Luke towards the stands. It's dark, and Luke keeps stumbling into him so he takes his hand to guide him. They climb up to the boxed seating instead of down to the rink. Ashton wants to show him what it looks like from above.

Once they're at the top of the stairs, he tells Luke to close his eyes. He unlocks the box and takes his hand again, tugging him forward. He positions him at the window, the perfect vantage point to see the whole rink and tells him to open his eyes, palms damp with anticipation.

Luke opens his eyes slowly, blinking once, twice to adjust to the lighting. The rink is illuminated with hundreds of candles, the flickering light bouncing off the smooth, glassy surface of the ice. It looks pretty beautiful, if he says so himself, but he still waits anxiously for Luke's reaction.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“You like it?” Ashton asks timidly.

“You did all of this?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” he repeats. 

He fidgets in his spot, choosing to watch Luke staring down at the rink in awe. Finally he turns his eyes to him, and they're full of disbelief and something else he can't figure out.

“I can't believe you did this,” he says, mystified. “You're setting the bar pretty high for a first date.”

Ashton smiles and ignores him, holds out his hand. “Come on, the food is getting cold.”

They trip down to the rink where two plates laid out, as well as more candles await them. He pulls Luke's chair out for him, which feels a little silly, but he's reminded of all the times Luke's opened his door for him (which again, is dumb but endearing) and ignores the embarrassment burning his cheeks. He lights the candles before dishing out the food, a creamy mushroom risotto that's the only relatively fancy dish he can cook consistently well. He hopes Luke doesn't expect him to cook for him again, otherwise they'll be eating a lot of risotto.

He waits expectantly for Luke to take his first bite, but he just stares at his plate. His stomach flips apprehensively.

"Do you not like mushrooms? Or rice? I probably should have asked. I just wanted to make something nice, but I don't really know how to make anything else." He giggles nervously, a high-pitched, almost-shrill sound that is grating to his ears.

"No, it's great," Luke rushes. "This is a lot to, um, process." He chews on his lip ring.

His stomach stops flipping and drops. "Is it too much?"

"No! It's nice, it is. I'm just..." He huffs, looking down. "I feel under-dressed. I didn't even wash my hair or anything." He reaches up and adjusts his beanie self-consciously, tugging it down over his ears. Ashton wants to laugh, looking at him shifting in his seat and trying to hunch his shoulders in to shrink himself. He pushes his plate to the side and stands. He'd intended to eat first so the food doesn't get cold, but there's a microwave in the break room they can use. If not, they can grab burgers somewhere. Or maybe waffles. And bacon.

He holds his hand out to Luke again, and he takes it. "Let's skate," he says and tugs him toward the change room. They slip their way off the ice and dig up a couple pairs of skates from the old rental booth. The blades are a little dull, but Ashton figures they'll do fine for now. It's been awhile since Ashton's been on the ice for anything other than maintenance so he's clumsy and slow. Luke ties his skates with ease, nimble fingers tugging the laces taut. He's done both his feet before Ashton's even finished one, and he reaches over to correct his wonky lacing. Ashton smacks his hands away and finishes his other skate stubbornly, only checking to see if it looks similar to Luke's when he's sure he's not looking.

Once they're on the ice, Luke is flying. He skates circles around Ashton while he hesitantly weaves his way around the piles of candles. He's not a bad skater, but he's not a professional either, which is made abundantly clear when Luke zips past him, spraying him with some shaved ice when he brakes, hard, right next to him before taking off again, giggling. He makes a feeble effort to chase after him, but Luke glides across the ice like it's nothing, expertly threading his way through the candles like he's seen him do countless times during practice with pylons. Ashton tries to follow him, but he's much slower, and Luke laps him easily. He doesn't mind, really, just enjoys watching Luke dance across the rink. He does a clumsy twirl before coming to a stop in front of him, grinning, with his cheeks flushed, and Ashton grins back.

"Having fun?"

"Yep," he says happily, popping the 'P.' He grabs Ashton's hands and starts hauling him around, skating backwards probably too fast. Ashton lets himself get dragged around, a burst of laughter echoing in the empty arena as they pick up speed, his hair fluffing in the slight breeze. Luke keeps glancing forward to look at him, laughing gleefully when he catches Ashton's smile. They take a hard turn, and Luke releases him, sling-shotting him forward with a 'whoop!'. Ashton uses the momentum to glide smoothly through the obstacles, coming to a stop when he grips Luke's arm as he passes. He kisses the tip of Luke's rosy nose, cold from the air, and Luke scrunches it at him adorably.

He goes, "Feeling better?"

Luke nods. "Feeling hungry."

The food is cold, and Luke apologizes at least half a dozen times while Ashton wraps up the plates, brushing him off. He orders a pizza instead of reheating anything, and they spend the next half an hour waiting for it playing an abysmal game of tag. He gets his ass kicked royally as he expects, but it's fun and by the time the pizza arrives, they're both flushed and a little sweaty.

They kick off their skates and jog back up to the box seats in their socks, curling up on the stiff chairs in the first row to look out over the luminous ice. Ashton drags an end table over to rest his feet on, and Luke lays his legs over top of his, intertwining them so Ashton can rest the pizza on top. The pizza is warm in his stomach and the glow emanating from the rink below is comforting. He shifts closer towards Luke, bumping his arm over a touch so they can share the armrest. Luke scoots closer as well, until their arms are touching, shoulder to wrist, and Ashton is hyper-aware of every inch of skin beneath their coats. They eat in relative quiet, Luke wiggling his toes now and again to lightly jostle Ashton's legs. Ashton nudges him with his toe to quit it, but they just end up playing a lazy round of footsie.

"This was really nice," Luke says once the pizza is gone, and they're pressed as close as the seats allow. "Thank you."

"Thanks for coming," he says, which sounds lame, but he means it. Luke runs his pinky over Ashton's knuckles lightly, almost absentmindedly. Ashton stays as still as he can manage while Luke traces the ridges of his hand. He wants to lean over the armrest separating them and kiss him but is suddenly shy, nervous, and kind of terrified Luke will reject him. So he watches Luke's finger brush over the contours of his hand instead, hardly daring to breathe.

He senses Luke's face leaning closer to his, but he keeps focusing on his pale finger sliding back and forth. He thinks if he turns his head, their foreheads will be touching. He's so close, and he wants it, but his stomach twists with anxiety. There's nothing to hide behind with this kiss – no alcohol, no hysterics, no ridiculous gestures of romanticism like this dumb date he cooked up. It'll be honest, and Luke will _know_ that he likes him. And he knows he's said it, and Luke's said it back but words are so easy and acting on those words is not.

Luke's finger stops, resting next to his hand. "Hey," he says, just above a whisper.

Ashton tilts his head slightly so he can see him. They're not facing each other, not quite. "Hey."

Luke hooks their pinkies together. "This was nice."

"You said that already," Ashton says with a quiet laugh.

"I know. But it was. I want you to know."

He turns his head the last bit. He's wrong, their foreheads don't quite touch. Luke isn't looking at him, though, eyes downcast as he stares at their interlocked fingers. His fair eyelashes are fanned out across his cheeks, and his mouth is hanging open slightly, his bottom lip pink and full.

Luke glances up at him abruptly, and he inhales sharply and holds it. Luke makes a face that makes him laugh, forcing the air through his nose in little huffs, which, in turn, makes him laugh.

"This was nice," he says for the third time, and Ashton wants to shove at him and laugh.

"Stop," he says instead with a smile. "It's not that great."

"Yeah, it is," Luke insists, smiling as well. "You're that great."

"Stop," he repeats and starts to pull back but Luke just leans forward after to him so they remain just as close. "You're cheesy," he says, trying to lean away so Luke stays in focus.

"Yeah," Luke admits.

"Like, really cheesy. That was such a line."

"Did it work?" He winks, and Ashton laughs, tipping his head back so he doesn't exhale his pizza breath all over him.

"Kind of."

Luke unhooks their pinkies and brings his hand up to rest at the back of his neck, the tips of his fingers fiddling with the hair there. "Is it weird if I ask to kiss you?"

His heart stutters. "No."

"Okay," he says and Ashton braces himself except Luke just leans back into his chair, hand still playing with his hair.

Ashton bites back a frustrated groan and swats Luke's chest. "Don't be an asshole."

Luke grins cheekily at him, looking pleased. "You want to kiss me?"

"Shut up," Ashton gripes, then, "No."

Luke chuckles. "Don't lie."

Ashton pouts, turning his head away but still angling his body towards him. Luke's lips brush lightly against his jaw shortly after, and he reluctantly shifts so he's visible out of the corner of his eye.

"Can I kiss you?" Luke asks. It's sincere.

"Maybe," Ashton says but he's not convincing. He turns back to face him. He's so close their noses brush. Luke tilts his head and closes the gap, no teasing or fuss, and kisses him, soft, yet with purpose. Ashton melts into him, a hand coming up to grip his hair, but the beanie gets in the way. He grabs the pompom on the back and tugs, pulling the hat off so he can thread his fingers through his silky hair. Luke tries to press closer, but the metal armrest gets in the way as it digs painfully into his stomach. He draws back from the kiss and climbs clumsily around the bar and into Ashton's lap even though the seat is small and they are both definitely not. This doesn't seem to matter to Luke as he swings a leg across him, straddling his lap. Ashton barely has time to process it before Luke's kissing him again, hands cupping his face. Ashton sticks his hand back in his hair while the other rests at his hip. Luke does most of the work, Ashton just along for the ride. He's careful to only kiss his face though, not venturing past his jaw. Maybe he's trying to be respectful or maybe he's adverse to necks but either way Ashton is frustrated. When they separate for air, he attaches his lips to his neck, lower down than he intends and closer to his shoulder. He doesn't care and sucks a bruise there anyway, Luke's grip going slack and letting a hand slip down to rest on his shoulder. He smirks a little at that and slides further up, leaving another mark as Luke stretches to give him more room.

"Fuck," Luke sighs as Ashton finishes up a third mark, pulling back to push at Luke's jacket, the bulky material impeding his progress so Luke sheds the coat quickly and tosses it behind him. Goosebumps erupt on his arm and Ashton runs his fingers over them lightly before Luke starts sucking his own mark at the hinge of his jaw. His fingers stop tracing, instead gripping his arm hard. Luke only leaves the one bruise before he's kissing him again, slower.

They keep kissing until Ashton's lips are numb and Luke's hair is a mess. It sticks up erratically, a more undone version of what his hair usually looks like. His lips feel as swollen as Luke's look, which only makes him want to keep going, but it's getting late and it's no fun if he can't feel anything.

Luke climbs off of him and falls back into his seat. Ashton tries to cuddle up next to him but, again, the bar gets in the way so they sit with their heads leaning into each other and their hands intertwined until Luke's curfew is up.

Once Ashton gets him out the door, he leans against the door and sighs. The candles have all burned down to stubs, and he's going to have to come in early tomorrow to scrape the wax off the ice, but it was worth it. So worth it.

* * *

Michael and Calum are exactly as annoying about his relationship with Luke as he anticipates. The four of them don't hang out as much since the hockey season has picked up and the team is actually winning, which means more practices and more games, most of which aren't at home so Luke's out of town a lot. He didn't bring up the fact that he and Luke are dating mostly because he kind of assumed they knew, but also because he didn't want to be questioned about. He discovers he made the right choice the first time all four of them get together at Michael's for a movie night.

"Our Lucas has finally found love!" Calum declares and wrestles Luke into a headlock, knocking off his cap and mussing his hair. Luke swats at him and twists out of the hold, face burning while he combs through his hair.

"Shut up," Luke mumbles as he adjusts his hat, turning it backwards, then forwards, then backwards again. He glances hesitantly at Ashton, who ignores the 'love' part and flops on the couch.

"Our Ash has found love!" Michael chimes in and flings himself into Ashton's lap, pulling his face to his and leaving a sloppy, loud kiss on his cheek. Ashton shoves him off, wiping at his cheek, and laughs when he falls to the floor.

"I hate you guys," Luke grumbles as he slumps next to Ashton. Ashton rests his arm on the backrest behind him, fingers idly brushing Luke's shoulder and Calum and Michael immediately begin jokingly groaning about PDA. Luke seems to tune out the theatrics, but Ashton listens with an amused smile, rolling his eyes at some of their dramatic gripes.

"Most importantly, I need this," Calum concludes as he gestures to the two of them, "to not interfere with group cuddles."

"God," Luke says with an exasperated chuckle.

"I second that," Michael adds.

"We won't interfere with group cuddles," Ashton almost-chants, bumping Luke's shoulder with his body.

"Good," they say together before dumping themselves onto and next to Luke, Calum wrapping his arms around his waist while Michael does something similar to Calum. Luke lifts his arm out of Calum's grip and drapes it over him, his arm long enough to reach Michael and play with the hair at the nape of his neck, just like he does to Ashton when they're together. It makes him drop his hand down to his shoulder and squeeze a little, more protective than he likes to be. Luke acknowledges him with a kiss to the cheek that the other two thankfully miss and Ashton eases his grip.

* * *

He doesn't tell his mom either. He should, he knows, especially because Luke starts coming around a lot more, and he's getting tired of rushing him out the door whenever it gets close to dinner. It's only a matter of time before she finds out anyway, with Lauren fixing him with a look every time he abruptly makes excuses for Luke to leave. Over dinner is the worst, her intense glare boring into him over the peas. She has the same piercing gaze as their mom, and she's already learning to use it well. It's terrifying, to say the least.

In the end, he doesn't get to decide when to tell his mom because Luke accidentally beats him to it. They're hanging out after school one day, watching Adventure Time with Harry, and Ashton falls asleep, exhausted from a night of cramming for midterms. He only wakes when he hears the front door slam, starting when he picks his head up off Luke's shoulder and is alarmed to see him still in his house.

His mom walks in moments later, stopping short when she sees three boys instead of two on her couch.

"Hello," she greets, and Luke returns it, starting to stand but she flaps her hand at him and tells him to stay seated.

"I'm Luke," Luke says from the couch. "You must be Ashton's mom? I'm..." He pauses, glancing uncertainly at Ashton. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," she says. "I'm Ann. Are you staying for dinner?"

Luke peers at Ashton again. "If you want to," he says quietly, hoping the hum of the TV will cover his voice.

"If that's okay with you," he says to Ashton's mom.

"Of course," she says. "I hope you like kale."

The dinner is uncomfortable for Ashton but perfectly fine for Luke. He's a little quiet, mostly only talking when prompted, but Ashton hardly notices with both his mom and Lauren boring holes in his head. He keeps his head down and eats his food as quickly as possible, barely pausing to chew. He wants to get Luke out of there, but he's taking his time, nodding along to something Harry's saying.

"Mom," Lauren announces, loud enough that Harry stops talking, "I don't think you've met Luke before."

"No," his mom says. "I haven't." She wipes her mouth with her napkin. "How do you know each other?"

"Luke is on the hockey team," Ashton says before Luke can answer.

"That's exciting," she says, bright eyes turning to Luke. "I heard the team is doing well this year."

Luke shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. We're still not great compared to the top teams, but we're doing better than last year."

"Some people think they might win the tournament cup," Lauren pipes in.

Luke laughs. "I doubt it. We're still pretty bad."

"I'm sure you're all doing fantastically," Ann says, smiling warmly at him. "We should go to a game some time, if you're winning for a change."

"It's definitely more exciting now that we're not losing all the time."

Ann smiles again, and they return to their food. Luke offers to do the dishes once they've all finished, but she brushes him off, sending the two of them away. Ashton speed-walks Luke to the door, snagging his coat on the way and stuffing his arms into it while Luke slips on his shoes.

"What's the rush?" Luke asks when they're standing in the door way. "Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Ashton assures him. “I just – I haven't told my mom about us yet.”

“Oh.” 

A heavy stone of remorse settles in his stomach at the flash of hurt in Luke's eyes. “I just didn't know what to tell her,” he reasons. “I don't know what to, um, call you.”

Luke flicks his lip ring back and forth before biting it into his mouth. “Are we – are we boyfriends?” he asks hesitantly.

Ashton ruffles the hair on the back of his head. “I don't know. Are we?”

“I thought so.”

A grin blossoms across his face before he can stop it. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Luke holds up his hand and they high-five, giggling, before Luke sneaks a quick peck to his lips before slipping out the door. Ashton watches him pull out onto the street. He has a boyfriend.

When he turns around, clicking the door shut with his back, his mom is standing in the entrance way, a dishcloth wound tightly between her hands. He glances to the side guiltily. 

“I'm guessing he's not just a friend,” she says. He nods. She steps closer to him, her socked-feet appearing in his downcast field of vision. She pulls him in for a hug, placing a kiss in his hair. He slumps in her embrace so she can reach better. “He seems quite lovely.”

Ashton laughs brokenly into her neck. “He is.”

She pats the back of his head gently. “Good. You deserve the loveliest.”

And that's that.

* * *

Except for it's not really because Ashton still hasn't met Luke's family. From what he's heard, he's not particularly eager to since the Hemmings seem to be a very involved family, and Ashton can barely handle the level of involvement he's experienced with his own family.

“They're not as bad as I make them sound,” Luke protests one evening. They're at Calum's, pretending to play video games while he and Michael smoke up down the street. They always come home reeking of pot, so he doesn't know why they bother trying to hide it.

“You have two older brothers I'm certain would beat me up if things ended badly between us. I'm keeping my distance.” He's joking. Mostly.

“They wouldn't beat you up,” Luke says. Then he adds, “Besides, it's Mum you want to watch out for.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Luke laughs and pulls him into his side, kissing him lightly.

“Please?” He pouts, pushing out his bottom lip. “Just come for dinner. You can bring Harry and Lauren and even your mum if she wants to come. My mum always cooks too much anyway.”

He pretends to consider it. He already knows he'll have to meet the Hemmings eventually, and it's hard to say no. “Just dinner?”

“I promise. No family football after or anything.”

“Your family plays football every night?”

“We're not going to do it before. We'd be smelly for dinner.” 

Ashton rolls his eyes and tucks his face into Luke's neck, a muffled “Okay” finally leaving him after a moment. Luke squeezes him closer in excitement, and they make out until Calum's sister interrupts them, informing them that Calum and Michael locked themselves out and are serenading her at her window. They go fetch them from Mali's window and watch Fantasia on a loop until Ashton falls asleep, tucked safely in Luke's arms.

* * *

In the end, he doesn't bring Harry or Lauren or his mom. He figures the first time he meets Luke's family is best dealt with alone, and he's jittery enough without having to worry about what his own family might do or say.

He buys a bottle of wine he hopes is good and arrives ten minutes early. He's sweating through the button down he'd attempted to iron earlier as he waits at the door, nervously wiping his palms on his jeans every few seconds. 

A cheery blonde woman opens the door with a baby in her arms. Ashton's eyes zoom to the child because he remembers Luke mentioning that he's the youngest, but that baby is definitely younger than him. He remembers himself and quickly flicks his gaze back to the woman and sticks out his hand, introducing himself.

The woman's face lights up when he tells her his name, and she ignores his hand all together, in favour of a hug instead. “I'm Liz, Luke's mom,” she informs him, jiggling the baby idly. “We're so excited to finally meet you. Luke won't stop talking about you, to be honest.” She whispers the last part and winks, like they're in on some secret. He's not sure what to say to that so he just laughs, a little unnaturally. 

Liz ushers him in and leads him further into the house. The place is covered in pictures, mostly of three identical blonde boys, and a few of the baby in her arms as well as other young children. 

“You'll have to excuse the mess,” Liz says as they pass through the living room, which is piled with toys. “We've got some relatives visiting and they brought their little ones so the house is a bit of a disaster. But we don't mind.” She says the last bit in an exaggerated voice to the baby, bouncing them again until they giggle.

They end up in the kitchen, where a clan of blonde giants are gathered. Everyone is broad and muscled, and Ashton is struck by how short and almost insignificant he feels as he scans the room.

“Ashton,” Luke calls, coming around the island and pulling him into his side. He kisses him on the cheek, and Ashton blushes, offering up the bottle of wine awkwardly instead of returning the affectionate gesture.

“I brought this,” he says and an older man takes it off his hands, introducing himself as Andy, Luke's dad. He meets Luke's brothers, Jack and Ben, who are a touch shorter but much more burly than Luke, who Ashton realizes is substantially more lanky than he thought. He meets a few of his aunts and uncles, as well as their little ones, who run all over the place, tripping up the adults. Luke scoops the youngest girl up as she tears past and lifts her above his head, swinging her around and making airplane noises. Her squeals make Luke beam, and it's all too adorable for Ashton to handle. 

Everyone is overly welcoming, and his nerves fade into the background. He helps Liz plate dinner, carefully arranging everything to her specifications. They eat at a long table in the dining room off the kitchen, and everyone takes memorized seats, leaving Ashton hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He's starting to panic a little when Luke brushes past him, loosely clasping his hand and tugging him into the seat next to his. 

He smiles sweetly at him, murmuring, “How are you doing?”

Ashton scans the room, takes in the bustling family. The house thrums with energy and light, a constant chatter filling its walls. It's so different from Ashton's home, which he wouldn't describe as empty or quiet, but compared to Luke's, that's how it seems. 

He smiles back at Luke and tells him, “I'm good.”

Luke is right; Liz makes enough food to feed a small army. He has seconds and is tempted for thirds until Luke warns him about desert, which is a variety of pies. He has a slice of apple and one of pumpkin with a mountain of whipped cream that Luke keeps stealing off his plate when he thinks he isn't looking. By the end of it all, he's comfortably stuffed and ready to take a nap. Instead he helps load the dishwasher and scrub the pans that need attending to. Luke is supposed to be doing the same but he somehow slips away to the living room where the kids are settling down, a movie on the TV. Ashton finds him sprawled out on the floor with one kid leaning on his crooked leg and another dozing on his stomach. He keeps tapping out gentle beats on her tummy and waking her up, but she smiles blearily at him every time so Ashton figures she's okay with it.

He sits down next to him, folding his legs as best he can in his tight jeans. Luke flicks his eyes over to him and smiles as he sits up slightly, jostling the two kids using him as a pillow. 

“Told you they weren't all bad,” he says as he hoists the little girl to his other side so he and Ashton can sit closer. He tucks the little one into his side while the older boy adjusts his position on his leg, smooshing his face into Luke's thigh and zoning out with his eyes trained on the television.

“No,” Ashtons replies as he glances back towards the kitchen, where he can hear the adults chatting. “They're great.”

“They're alright,” Luke says with a shrug, but there's a small, pleased smile on his lips.

It only takes about half the movie for the kids to pass out. Luke picks them up gingerly and lays them on the couch, feet facing each other. Ashton's never seen him do anything with such care. It's such a jarring difference to seeing him smash dudes into the sideboards during hockey games; he's kind of surprised he's capable of such tenderness. 

“Want to go upstairs?” Luke asks once the kids are situated. Ashton peers into the dining room, through the glass door to the backyard where the rest of the group is gathered around a small chimenea for warmth. No one seems to be missing them so he nods and follows Luke up to his room.

It's ludicrously clean, is the first thing Ashton thinks when he steps into Luke's room. The bed is pristine, and there's not even dust on any of the shelves. There's not a lot on his walls – a couple band posters with a handful of matching tickets taped next to them. There are some hockey players up too, though they're no one Ashton recognizes. There's a chest at the foot of the bed that must be from his childhood. It doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the room, too bright and young to be anything other than a sentimental piece. There's also a desk with a bunch of textbooks and a laptop on it, as well as two bookcases, worn and bowed in the middle from the weight of all the books and trophies littering the shelves. And, God, the awards – they're _everywhere_. Not just for athletics, but also math medals and music certificates. It's all overwhelming, and, in contrast to his room at home, fairly intimidating.

“Is there anything you're not good at?” he questions, fingering a medal hanging off the corner of one of the bookcases. He flips it over to check out the engraving: Awarded to LUKE HEMMINGS for Academic Excellence 2013. If he didn't feel inadequate before, he certainly does now.

“I'm bad at lots of things,” he says but doesn't elaborate. Ashton raises his eyebrows at him skeptically and keeps examining his shelves. 

“Stop looking at that stuff and come sit,” Luke insists, patting the spot next to him on his bed. Ashton concedes but reluctantly.

“I'm starting to think you're way out of my league,” he says as he takes a seat next to Luke. Luke rolls his eyes and pushes him down so they're lying on their backs, staring up at his bare ceiling.

“Seriously,” Ashton continues, “all this stuff make you look pretty perfect.”

Luke snorts. “I'm not perfect. I told you; there's lots of things I'm crap at.”

“Like what?”

“Like... art. I can't draw worth shit. And public speaking, I'm bad at that too. And cleaning – Mum complains I always make a mess in the bathroom and here. My room's only clean because we have company.” He pauses, thinking.

“Three things. Wow, you're a complete disaster.”

“Shut up,” Luke snipes, swatting him. “There are other things, I just can't think of them right now. But I'm not perfect.”

Ashton glances back at all the trophies and medals. “Sure doesn't seem like it.”

“Those things don't mean anything. Anyone can win a ribbon.”

Ashton groans, rolling on his side to face him. “Stop. You're just making it worse.”

Luke shifts to face him as well, eyebrows pulled together. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking genuinely guilty. 

Ashton kisses the pucker between his brows and it smooths away. “I'm just kidding. Talk about how terrible you are some more so I feel better about myself.”

Luke laughs. “Fine. There's something else I'm really bad at.”

“What's that?”

He moves his body closer, making Ashton tilt back slightly to keep him in focus. “I'm pretty crap at kissing.”

Ashton raises his eyebrows. He's pretty sure that's a lie.

He watches a sly smile spread across Luke's face. “I think I need more practice,” he says as he tangles their legs together. Ashton wants to roll his eyes but Luke's face is so close and he wants to kiss him more than he wants to rag on him for the line.

Luke scoots closer until their noses are touching. “You think you can help me with that?” 

“I think so,” Ashton murmurs against his lips before slotting their mouths together neatly. They keep their hands to themselves and just kiss, mostly soft, fleeting things. Ashton's still partially aware that Luke's family are all just down the stairs so he doesn't want to get particularly into it. 

They kiss for awhile longer until Ashton thinks Luke's parents might be getting suspicious of where they've slipped off to. They stop and just lay in Luke's bed for a few beats, not saying anything.

“When am I going to see your room?” Luke asks almost shyly.

He hadn't really thought about it. “I don't know. Soon, I guess.”

Luke yawns. “You should sleepover one day. Or I could sleep at yours. I want to sleep with you.” His eyes pop open at that, backtracking wildly. “Not, like, sex. I mean, yes, sex, maybe, if you're into it – but, like, I don't know, I meant, like, actual sleeping. Like REM cycles and stuff.”

Ashton laughs at his bumbling and kisses his nose. “I get it.”

He decides to head home after that, popping into the backyard to say goodbye. Liz draws him into another hug and tells him he's welcome anytime. Andy shakes his hand, and Jack and Ben clap him on the back. The kids are awake again, and they all request elevator rides before he leaves, which he complies with, lifting them high in the air and then bringing them down. Luke kisses him on the cheek again, and it still embarrasses him but his family doesn't bat an eye. He feels good as he drives home. Maybe he will bring Harry and Lauren next time.

* * *

He forgets to book off his shifts the next time there's a hometown game so he's stuck scrambling around the rink, trying to do his job and watch the hockey game at the same time. They're playing against the team from the town over, who consistently beat their team into the dirt every year and always enjoy rubbing it in. Since the team is actually good this year, everyone is on the edge of their seats, eager to finally win one and have a chance at bragging rights. But the opposing team is just as good, and the game is close, with the score tied at one to one.

Ashton only catches snippets as he flits around the rink, cleaning up after people and running errands. Everyone is drunk and stumbling or sloppy and high on adrenaline so the place is messier than usual. He's already had to clean up puke twice and it's only the second period. 

He finally gets a second to pay attention to the game after escorting an extremely intoxicated group of guys out, and it's not great. The opposing team is up by one, and even though the guys are playing their hardest, it doesn't seem to be paying off. He winces as Adam checks a guy poorly and gets called out for it. He skates over to the penalty box and sulks, tossing his stick to the side and making a show of slouching in his seat.

“Ashton?” A meek voice interrupts his concentrated stare. He glances to his side, and the new girl who works in the one of the concession stands gives him a twitchy smile. “Sorry but, um, there are some people in the women's bathroom in section L.”

He sighs. “Please tell me they are not throwing up.”

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “Um, no. They're – uh, they're...” She lowers her voice, eyes shifty. “Having sex,” she whispers, and Ashton groans.

“No.”

“Yes?”

He sighs again and rises, stepping around her. 

“Sorry!” she cries after him, and Ashton waves her off. 

There's a line-up about ten feet long snaking out of the ladies' room. He side-steps past the impatient patrons and slips into the bathroom, making a beeline for the handicap stall. Sure enough, two sets of feet peek out from beneath the door. He runs a hand through his hair before rapping on the stall door. The feet freeze, and a woman's voice responds after a brief pause.

“Occupied.”

“Ma'am,” Ashton says wearily. “I need you and your partner to please exit the bathroom.”

There's another pause. “Partner? It's just me in here.”

Ashton could kill someone, honestly. “Ma'am, I can clearly see two pairs of legs under the stall door. Please exit immediately.”

There's some shuffling as he hears a fly zip up. Then, “It's just me.”

Ashton bites his tongue and just lets out a tired, “Ma'am.” He waits with his arm braced against the next stall over, resting his head on his forearm. He hates this job so, so much sometimes.

Eventually the couple do come out, looking dully cowed. He shows them out of the building, resolutely ignoring them as he leads the way. They look embarrassed enough for him so he doesn't bother with the 'don't do it again otherwise you're banned' spiel he's supposed to threaten every patron with and simply kicks them out before returning to his seat.

The third period is wrapping up, and everyone is going as hard as they can. At some point the game got tied up again, and he's never seen the crowd so still with anticipation. Everyone's standing but silent, eyes ping-ponging up and down the rink as the players whiz around the rink, flicking the puck back and forth and taking desperate shots. 

Adam's in the penalty box again, this time anxiously pressed up against the glass as his team flies past him. There's a squabble near the home team's net that has everyone on their toes, a collective sigh released when the puck shoots out from the cluster of players and skitters down the ice. Everyone breaks away and books it towards the opposite end. Ashton checks the time, jaw clenching as the seconds race to zero. Alex, one of the defensemen, catches the puck and takes a shot, but it rebounds off the goalie's stick. Adam's penalty is up and he hops back on the ice, snagging the puck from the offense and dashing back to his team. He tips it over to Luke, who picks it up with ease and starts hustling to the net. He winds up and slaps the puck straight at the net, a clear shot. 

The goalie's hand shoots out at the last second, snatching the puck out of the air. The buzzer sounds, and everyone stares, momentarily speechless at the incredible save. A couple people check the scoreboard, as if a point will magically appear and tie the game, but nothing changes. The opposing team erupts into cheers, piling onto the rink and hugging their teammates. Their enthusiasm snaps the arena out of its silence and, reluctantly, people start gathering their things, grumbling and disappointed. 

Ashton doesn't wait to watch the end game handshakes, instead jogging down to the locker rooms. By the time he fights his way through the crowd, everyone's already tucked away in the showers, and he slumps against the wall to wait for them to finish. 

He offers feeble congratulations to the first few teammates who trickle out and they give him weak smiles in return. They look more tired than upset, which Ashton guesses is a good thing. He waits another fifteen minutes before Luke comes out, his hair flat and pushed across his forehead. Ashton stands, falling into step next to him and bumping his shoulder.

“Good game,” he says, and Luke shakes his head, rubs at his eye.

“I fucked up. We could've won, and I fucked it up.”

“Hey.” Ashton grabs his hand and pulls him aside, staring hard at him. “You didn't fuck up. That save was insane. Everyone thought you were going to make that goal.”

“But I didn't,” Luke says, eyes downcast. 

“They're a tough team,” Ashton reasons. “You guys did great. Way better than last year. You have nothing to be upset about.”

Luke's grip tightens on his bag, and for a moment Ashton's worried he might hit something, his arms tensing. But then all the fight seems to melt out of him, his shoulders slumping as he pitches forward to rest his head on Ashton's shoulder.

“Just wanna sleep,” he mumbles into his shirt. 

Ashton raises a hand and starts running his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Let's get you home.”

“S'too far.”

Ashton purses his lips. “Okay. Let's go to mine, then.”

Luke tilts his head to peer up at him, eyes suddenly alert. “You sure?”

Ashton nods. “Yeah. Come on.”

He makes up an excuse to leave early, which he doesn't think his supervisor buys, but he lets him go anyway. He gets Luke situated in his car, making sure Luke's is locked up for the evening. Luke kind of half-dozes on the drive to Ashton's place, which is relieving since he's having a bit of a freak out. He can't remember the last time someone not family was in his room, let alone staying in it, sleeping in his bed, all night, oh, _God_.

He pulls into the driveway, careful to avoid the minor pothole near the lawn he always forgets to fill. Luke blinks himself awake and lets himself be led to the door, toeing out of his shoes and shrugging off his jacket on autopilot. His mom is at the kitchen counter, preparing a cup of tea, and she waves upon seeing them.

“Luke's going to spend the night, if that's okay,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Keep the door open,” she says after a moment, winking as she steps past them to get to the living room. He's so anxious he can't even feel embarrassed, although Luke sputters enough for the both of them. 

His bed isn't made and there's a small mountain of clean laundry he's been picking through the past couple weeks instead of putting it away taking up a good chunk of his room. He tries to tidy, gathering his books and discarded assignments while kicking dirty clothes into the closet. His stomach churns as he attempts to organize everything into messy piles, avoiding Luke's gaze determinedly. The posters on his walls and the books on his shelf suddenly seem stupid, and he's hyper-aware of the stupid glow-in-the-dark stars he still has stuck up on his ceiling from when he was twelve and they'd just moved in and he'd finally gotten his own room.

"I'm cleaner than this usually," he apologizes, reluctantly spinning to face Luke. He's still in the doorway, waiting to be invited in. Ashton steps forward and takes his bag from his hands, shuffling backwards and beckoning him inside. Luke follows him slowly. Ashton sets his bag at the foot of the bed and runs a hand through his hair, flopping it to one side, than the other until it settles where it was originally.

Luke does a quick turn to examine the room. "Do you mind if I just, like–” He gestures vaguely at the bed before taking a halting step towards it.

"Oh! Yeah. Sure." He steps to the side unnecessarily, and Luke basically face-plants into the sheets. He rolls over to the side of the bed next to the wall and pats the empty space next to him.

"C'mon," he says around a yawn, making grabby-hands at him. Ashton pauses before shucking off his jeans and pulling on a pair of sweatpants he finds sticking out from under the bed. He pulls off his shirt and settles next to Luke, who seems to be half-asleep already.

"Coach is going to be so mad," Luke says into the quiet, startling Ashton. He flips onto his side, propping his head up with his arm.

"Why do you say that?"

"I could've shot through his legs. Their goalie is bad at keeping his pads together. It would've gone in, but it wouldn't've been as showy." Luke curls into himself, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his middle. "I wanted to show off, and we lost."

Ashton shifts closer. "You tied. That's not the same as losing. And it was just one game."

"We could've won if I wasn't such an idiot," he mumbles and tucks his chin in, making himself seem small.

He drops his head back to the pillow so he can encircle Luke, tugging him close. Luke buries his head against his chest, his nose cold against his bare skin. He cards a hand through Luke's hair, letting his nails drag a little against his scalp. "No one is going to blame you. Feldmann is a good coach. He's probably just going to tell you guys to work harder." Luke chuckles weakly. Ashton kisses the top of his head and leaves his nose buried in his hair, enjoying that warm, familiar smell. "It's gonna be okay," he says. Luke nods, hair tickling Ashton's nose, and untangles his arms from himself to wrap them around Ashton's torso and snuggles closer.

"Is this okay?" he whispers sleepily as he nuzzles at his chest.

"Yeah." He's pretty sure Luke can hear his heart hammering against his sternum.

"Good."

* * *

He wakes up with Luke still plastered to his chest, their legs tangled. He'd taken his jeans off at some point in the night and re-positioned their bodies so his nose was nestled at the hinge of Ashton's jaw. He can feel gentle puffs of air against his neck, and it's oddly calming. He's sweating, though, not used to sleeping with pants on, for one, but also unaccustomed to another body in his tiny twin bed. He does some shuffling, carefully attempting to extract himself from Luke's grip. As he pulls away, Luke wakes, snuffling and tightening his hold around Ashton's waist.

"Luke," he whispers, nudging his shoulder.

He mumbles something incomprehensible and tugs him impossibly closer.

"Luke," he repeats, louder and slightly more stern while he tries to pry himself out of his grip again.

"No," he slurs, voice low and scratchy with sleep.

"Luke," he says again, this time high and whiny as he pushes uselessly at his shoulder.

"Five more minutes."

"Let me go. You can sleep more. I'm hot."

"Yes, you are."

Ashton rolls his eyes. "Lame. The worst. Would not recommend."

He loosens his hold and rolls onto his side, smiling sleepily. "I thought it was pretty good."

"It's too early for pick-up lines."

"Then stay in bed," he says and adjusts his grip.

He shoves lightly at his shoulder, Luke tipping onto his back easily. He keeps his hold tight and pulls Ashton on top of him, reaching up for a kiss. Ashton tilts his head back so he doesn't quite reach, Luke dropping his head back to the pillow with a pout.

"I'm _hot_ ," he complains.

"Take off your pants."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"You don't need to get out of bed for that."

He huffs at him, but Luke just smiles. His eyes are puffy from sleep but the sun peeking through the blinds make his them an unreal shade of blue, so clear he thinks he could fall into them.

"Are you going to help me then?" he snips, mostly joking as he attempts to roll off of him, but Luke just keeps his arms secure and flops over with him. He slides his hands forward to hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants, his fingers splayed out at the base of his back.

"I can," he says but there's no heat in his voice, nor in his movements. He wiggles his thumbs, and it tickles, making Ashton giggle softly. He tugs the tiniest amount, and Ashton lifts his hips so Luke can shimmy the sweatpants down to his knees, where Ashton reaches a foot up to kicks them off, shoving them down to the edge of the bed.

"Better?" Luke asks. He nods, and Luke smiles, goes, "Good" and tucks him under his chin before drifting off to sleep again.

* * *

Even though nothing happened between them that night (or the following morning), having Luke in his bed gets Ashton thinking about sex. It's not that he's lacking for affection; they kiss a lot and Luke is clingy in a good way, always snuggled into his side or vice versa. He's not much better, constantly resting a hand on Luke's shoulder, at the small of back, just _anywhere_. They can't sit next to one another without resting an arm around each other, and it's getting to the point where even he's noticing how often they touch without the side-eyes from Michael and Calum, as well as the rest of the hockey team when they're around.

But that seems to be all they do: touch and kiss. He's not in any huge rush to jump right in, but, you know. He's had a boyfriend for almost three months and he still has to jerk off. It's not great.

Reasonably he knows he should bring it up, that he _could_ just bring it up and, at worst, he'd have to force himself through a painfully awkward conversation, but he can't bring himself to do it, mostly because Luke just... doesn't seem bothered. He never pushes the boundaries, careful to keep his hands on his hips or face, in his hair. It's lead to numerous grossly fond make out sessions but nothing heated. He's not ungrateful, obviously, because he gets to kiss a cute boy, who clearly cares about him, for literally hours if he likes. But sometimes he thinks about more and gets a little wistful.

He makes an aborted effort to bring it up with Calum on their way to a house party one night, bouncing his leg so vigorously that Calum has to reach over and smack his knee to get him to stop. He ceases the movement instantly, settling for tapping lightly against his outer thigh on the leg away from him so hopefully he can't see.

"Dude. Quit it," Calum laughs when he catches his fingers wiggling out of the corner of his eyes. "What's up with you."

He starts but then cuts himself off, the back of his neck heating.

Calum glances at him, eyebrows raised.

He sighs and tries again. "Is Luke – Is he... into? Stuff?" His words come out garbled and everything sounds like it has a question mark after it. His cheeks instantly burn, and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Stuff," Calum repeats flatly.

"Like, sex. Stuff." He tacks on after a brief pause.

"Uh," Calum says, shifting in his seat.

"Never mind," Ashton says quickly and angles his body towards the window, conversation over.

Calum adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, moves the rear view mirror a millimeter to the left. After a moment, he goes, "I don't think he's not... not into sex?" Ashton checks the lock on the door. It's off, so he could easily throw himself out the door. "He's not a virgin, if that's what you're asking," Calum continues. He's putting a lot of effort into avoiding looking anywhere other than straight ahead.

That eases a little of his worry. "So he's not, like, asexual or anything? Like, he wants to... do stuff?"

"Oh, my God," Calum says.

"I'm sorry, we can stop," he rushes. “I just don't want to force him into anything so. Yeah.”

He grits his teeth and shakes his head. "He's not asexual, as far as I know."

"Oh," Ashton says, relaxing into his seat. "That's, um, cool. Thanks."

He nods jerkily, adjusts the mirror again. "You should probably, you know, talk about this. With Luke."

"Right."

"And not me."

"Yeah."

"Ever again. Please."

Ashton laughs and the tension defuses. “Sorry,” he apologizes a little sheepishly.

“I'm not going to say it's okay because I seriously never want to have this conversation again but. I appreciate you looking out for him, or whatever.”

Ashton nods and settles into his seat.

* * *

"This is awful."

"You said you wanted to watch Sharknado," Ashton reminds him.

"I thought it would be funny, but it's just really bad," he says as a character on screen attempts to drop a bomb into the center of the tornado.

"I told you it would be."

"I thought it'd be funny!" he protests, laughing as the bomb explodes, sending poorly animated bits of shark flying across the screen.

"I can't believe we wasted an hour and a half of our lives on this movie," Ashton says, as the credits start to roll.

"I'm sorry," Luke laughs, shutting the laptop and reaching across Ashton to place it on his bedside table. He kisses his cheek. "I'll make it up to you."

"You can't give me back that time," Ashton continues. "That whole ninety minutes - wasted."

Luke laughs again before glancing hesitantly at him then at his door, considering something. Ashton gives him a confused smile before Luke stands, crossing the room and shutting the door quietly. He slinks back to the bed, shuffling his feet against the carpet and hauls himself into Ashton's lap, nipping at his jaw. "I know. I'm a ruiner. I ruin things."

Ashton tilts his head back, exposing his neck. "You do. You ruin everything."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again, kissing down his neck and sliding his hands up his shirt. "I'll try to not to."

He sits up so Luke can pull his shirt off and kiss across his chest. "Maybe you don't ruin everything," he corrects, the last word coming out as more of a sigh.

"Hm?" Luke hums, his lips back by his throat so he feels the vibrations.

"Just some things."

Luke pinches his side, snickering when Ashton jumps before sneaking a hand between them to pop open the button on Ashton's jeans. He starts at that, Luke's fingertips tracing the waistband of his briefs.

"Um," he breathes, and Luke freezes, eyes flicking up to his.

"Is this okay?" he asks, already withdrawing his hand. Ashton reaches down to keep it in place, heart racing.

"Yeah. Yes."

Luke smiles before continuing, drawing his hand down and undoing his fly. His stomach aches as his muscles tense embarrassingly in anticipation. Nothing has even _happened_ and he feels like he could fall apart. Luke dips his hand into his briefs, fingers wrapping around him, and he honest to God sighs, pushing every last breath out of his lungs. Luke checks with him before he starts moving, gentle, cautious strokes. He pushes his hips into his fist, whining when Luke tightens his grip slightly.

They kiss sloppily as Luke works him over, Ashton barely reciprocating so much as trying to keep his mouth somewhat closed so he's just not sitting there, slack-jawed. They stop at some point, Ashton all but collapsed while Luke stares down between them, lips parted and brow furrowed in concentration.

"Stop thinking so hard," Ashton gasps out, curling forward to kiss the wrinkle between his eyebrows away. "You're doing good."

"Can I give you blow job?" he asks instead of acknowledging Ashton's comments.

"Uh," he says but Luke's already wiggling down his body and shoving at his pants, kissing at his thighs and licking a line up the underside of his cock. "Oh, my God."

Luke holds his gaze as he wraps his lips around him, bobbing his head slowly at first before adjusting and going at it more vigorously. Ashton drops his head back, smacking the back of it into the headboard with a bang, and Luke lets go immediately to check on him, lips and chin shiny with spit.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, biting back a laugh.

"Shut up," he groans, cheeks flushed. Luke lets the laugh out and leans up to kiss him, hand finding its way between them again. It feels better with the slick from Luke's mouth, and he presses his hips up while Luke grinds down on his thigh. "Fuck," he hisses as he fumbles for Luke's waistband, hastily unzipping his pants.

"It's okay–” He starts but then Ashton gets a hand on him and the rest of his sentence dies. He switches hands for a second to spit in his palm, making the motion easier, and they're both panting, muffling moans into bitten lips and shoulders as they climb closer to the end.

"Luke," he stutters before he feels his stomach clench, coming apart in Luke's hand and on their stomachs. Luke bites down on his shoulder when he follows, slumping forward as their bodies shake together.

"Shit," Luke sighs. He pulls at his messy shirt, looking down at it as if he doesn't know how it got that way. Ashton helps him remove it without getting come in his hair, laughing as he shimmies out of the shirt before using it to wipe at Ashton's stomach. They peel out of their jeans, snuggling into one another and giggling.

"Was that really for Sharknado?" Ashton asks into the quiet.

Luke does his adorable squeaky laugh, suffocating it into Ashton's shoulder. "No."

"Thank God. I don't want to watch that movie every time I need to get you in the mood."

"'In the mood?' How old are you?"

Ashton swats his arm. "Shut up."

They giggle some more before settling, falling asleep with their legs tangled.

* * *

Lauren has a date, and Ashton's freaking out.

“It's not a big deal,” she tells him as she adjusts her shirt in the mirror. “It's just a movie.”

“You're my baby sister; I'm allowed to freak out.”

She shoots him a look before methodically packing her purse, placing each item inside with care. “There's nothing to freak out about.”

Ashton opens his mouth to dispute that, but there's a knock at the door and Lauren's breezing past him, slinging her purse across her body as she jogs down the stairs.

“You'll call me if you need something, right?” he says, tripping after her. He swears she rolls her eyes, but she nods, snagging her coat off the dining table on her way to the door.

“Everything will be fine, but, yes, I'll call if I need you.”

“Promise?”

This time she definitely does roll her eyes, but she holds out her pinkie to him, looking a little exasperated. He hooks his pinkie with hers and they shake as she says, “Promise.”

Then she's out the door, and Ashton doesn't know what to do with himself.

* * *

“I have a date on Friday,” Harry tells him shyly one Sunday afternoon. They're at a park, throwing a softball back and forth. It's a very dad-like activity but he doesn't mind.

“God, not you too,” he groans, whipping the ball at Harry's mitt. “You're all growing up too fast.”

“We're going for ice cream,” he says proudly before winding up and flinging the ball wildly at him. Ashton smiles fondly at him, catching his throw easily.

“That's great, punk.”

Harry beams, and they play in silence, the only sound the _thwap_ of the ball landing snugly in their gloved hands. 

After a moment, Harry goes, “Have you ever been in love?”

It's abrupt, and it catches Ashton off-guard, the ball slipping just out of his mitt and landing with a dull thud in the grass at his feet.

“D'you think you're in love?” he asks as he bends over to retrieve the ball, wiping the wetness from the dew on his jeans.

“No,” Harry says automatically, looking momentarily embarrassed. 

“Then why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “I don't know.”

Ashton thinks that's that as they pass the ball back and forth in silence again, but then Harry says, “Do you love Luke?” and he's pretty sure he has a mild heart attack. He fumbles, the ball popping out of his grasp again and rolling pitifully between them. 

“What?”

He shrugs again, jogging over to the ball and picking it up. He beats it into his mitt a couple times before chucking it back to Ashton. “I don't know. You've been boyfriends for awhile. I thought you might.”

Ashton swallows, picking at the stitching in his glove. “I don't know.”

“Okay.”

Ashton lofts the ball high in the air, watching it arc upwards before dropping neatly back into his hand. “I do like him.”

“Okay.”

“A lot.”

Harry nods. “Cool.”

Ashton considers that for a moment and smiles. “It is.”

* * *

Lauren goes on another date with a different boy the following weekend, Harry has a sleepover with his ice cream date, and his mom can't wait to get rid of him, apparently, because shortly after she returns from dropping Harry off, she's pressing her car keys into his palm and shoving him out the door.

“Go be a kid for once,” she almost-scolds, leaning against the door jam and effectively blocking him out of the house.

“I haven't seen you in awhile. We could hang out.”

“No offense, love, but all I want to do is take a bath and read a good book tonight.” She smiles gently. “We can catch up another time. Keep your phone on for Lauren.” Then she kisses him on the cheek and shuts the door in his face without giving him time to respond.

He ends up driving around town aimlessly after climbing into the car without any destination in mind. He calls a couple friends from school, but they're all busy or ignoring him. He drives out to the diner and orders a slice of pie along with some coffee, but it's lonely dining by yourself so he eats and leaves quickly. He's circling back to his house when he gets a call from Michael, inviting him to a house party a couple streets over. He checks the time and figures he can stay for an hour, max, before Lauren might need a ride home and passes his street, driving the five or so minutes further down the road.

He finds Michael chatting with a girl with long blue hair and a slightly raspy voice, a back of cigarettes poking out of her denim jacket. She introduces herself with a hug, friendly and welcoming, and they soon engross themselves in an intense discussion about Nirvana and Kurt Cobain that Michael begs off of about half-way through.

“I'm going to look for Cal,” he calls over the din, people chattering all around them. “I'd recommend you guys vacate pretty soon.” He gestures to the living room behind them where some guys are piecing together a drum set. “They're nice dudes, but their music sucks.”

Ashton and his new blue friend, Ashley, hang around anyway, sitting through two full songs before bailing. He spots Michael and Calum slinking into the basement, and Ashley says she'll see him around before disappearing outside to smoke. He figures Michael and Calum are probably doing something similar downstairs but stumbles down the dark staircase anyway.

He's right; a small group are sprawled out on the couches, passing a joint back and forth. He settles in next to Calum, who's got his legs kicked into Michael's lap.

“Ash,” he says, smiling sleepily at him as he tilts his head back to rest on his shoulder. “I didn't know you were here, man.”

He just smiles in response, passing the blunt off to him. He offers it to Michael, who shakes his head, and Calum shrugs, bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply. He hauls himself upright and motions for Michael to come closer. He complies, and Ashton watches in fascination as Calum blows the smoke into Michael's mouth, their lips almost touching.

Michael catches him watching. “You wanna try?” he asks. Ashton glances at his watch. It's been way more than an hour, and Lauren's probably home by now anyway so he nods, figuring he's got all night. Michael accepts the joint from Calum, taking a pull and gesturing Ashton closer. He leans in, his lips slightly parted, and Michael blows the barest amount of smoke towards him. He inhales what he can, settling back once he's done as Michael blows sloppy rings with the remainder of the smoke, the shapes dissipating shortly after leaving his mouth. 

The pot is okay, mostly just mellows him out. He passes when the cigarette comes around again, as do Michael and Calum, and they sit on the couch in mostly silence while the others talk, their conversation a pleasant background hum.

He doesn't notice Luke slipping next to him until his arm is sliding in behind him, resting on the back of the couch. His fingers just brush the edge of his shoulder, and they feel so nice, almost calming, hanging out there.

“Hey,” he says. “I didn't know you were coming out.”

“I wasn't,” he replies, then, after a moment, “My sister went on a date tonight.”

Luke nods at him, eyes on someone else who offers a beer to him, which he turns down. “I know, I just dropped her off at your house.”

Ashton blinks slowly. “What?”

“It went well, I think,” Luke continues. “She was in a good mood when I picked her up.”

“Why did you pick my sister up?”

“Dude, are you dating his sister?” Calum asks, head back on Ashton's shoulder. “That's fucked up.”

“She called me, said she needed a ride,” Luke explains, ignoring Calum. “You weren't answering your phone.”

“My sister has your number?” he says as he fumbles with his phone, pressing the on button to find it dead, the screen black. “Shit.”

Luke laughs and helps him ease the phone back into his jeans. “It's cool. I don't mind driving her around and stuff.”

“Thanks,” he says and drops his head to the side, placing a kiss to Luke's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Michael breathing a stream of smoke into Calum's mouth. They're much closer than when Michael did it to him, and, as Michael leans forward to pass the joint to Ashton, Calum does the same, closing the minuscule gap between them. Ashton catches the cigarette before Michael drops it as his hand goes to slide up Calum's shirt.

He looks to Luke to gauge his reaction, but he seems wholly unbothered, instead reaching for the stub of a blunt pinched between Ashton's fingers and raising it to his lips.

“Wait,” he says. “We should do whatever they did.”

“Kiss?”

“No, the smoke-blowing thing.”

Luke laughs and goes, “Sure,” before taking a long pull. Ashton shifts closer and Luke places his lips against his, exhaling a gust of smoke into his mouth. Ashton sucks it in before pressing their lips together, kissing him sweetly.

When they pull apart, Ashton giggles. “I can't believe you drove my sister home from a date.”

“It's like I'm part of the family,” Luke says, and it's a joke, Ashton knows, but Luke tenses a beat after the words leave his mouth, and he rushes to correct himself.

Ashton cuts him off before he can start, wiggling closer and snuggling into his side. “Yeah, you are.”

Luke smiles at him, and they settle in for awhile, half-listening to a heated debate about the plural form of the word 'moose' going on between the people on the couch next to their's. After some time, Ashton starts to nod off, though, Luke nudging him awake.

“Want to go home?” he asks softly, and he nods.

Once they're outside, the cold air seems to clear his head, and he slips his hand into Luke's easily. They walk the few blocks to Ashton's house, swinging their arms obnoxiously, almost throwing off their balance a couple of times. 

“I like you a lot, Huke Lemmings,” Ashton declares as they approach his house. He can't tell if the flush on Luke's cheeks is from the cold or from the compliment but it's cute regardless.

“That's good since we're, you know, dating.”

“Come upstairs,” he says while unlocking the door and pushing it open. He reaches for Luke's hand again after, like a request, pleased when Luke takes it and he can tow him upstairs.

Once in his room, they help each other pull off one another's clothes, leaving them in a messy heap at the foot of his bed. Luke climbs under the covers first, nestling into the pillows before smoothing the sheets next to him. Ashton slides in, wrapping his arms around Luke and resting his head between his shoulder blades. He kisses the bone that juts out slightly, watching it shift as Luke gets comfortable. There are faint freckles dotting the tops of his shoulders that Ashton never noticed before so he kisses them, too.

“I like you a lot,” he whispers again into the quiet. He's not sure if Luke hears or if he's already asleep but he doesn't mind that he doesn't get a response. It just feels nice to say it.

* * *

He wakes in the same position they fell asleep in, face smushed into Luke's smooth back, bodies pressed flush together. He rubs his nose against his back and rolls over to stretch. Luke flops over with him, still half-asleep and grumbling. He lifts an arm in the air to stretch as well before bringing a fist down to mash the sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” Ashton mumbles, Luke replying something similar but slightly intelligible. He wraps himself around Luke again, enjoying his warmth.

“We should get your car,” Luke says but makes no effort to get up. He pulls back from where his nose is buried into Luke’s hair to place a soft kiss along his jaw. His hair is getting long now, curling up at the nape of his neck and along the sides. He doesn’t mind, though. It makes him messier, less perfect in some ways. He likes it best when he doesn’t style his hair because that means Ashton can run his fingers through it as much as he wants, and without the haze of product, he gets to smell Luke, just the way he is, no frills or tricks.

“You always smell kind of... yeasty,” he says.

“Yeasty,” he repeats, unimpressed.

“Yeah. It’s weird. I expected you to smell like Axe or Irish Spring or something.”

Luke wrinkles his nose. “You think I’d wear Axe?”

“Half the team does.”

“Yeah, and it’s gross.”

“It’s manly,” Ashton says and flexes his bicep before kissing it.

Luke laughs and shoves at his shoulder, making him flop onto his back. They’re still close, Ashton’s other arm trapped under Luke’s back and their legs tangled together. He tries to shift closer into his side without being obvious but Luke catches him and smiles.

“My mom bakes bread a couple times a week,” he explains. “That’s why I smell.”

“You don’t _smell._ ”

“You said it’s weird,” he says a little petulantly.

Ashton snuggles closer, presses his nose back into the soft almost-curls behind his ear and inhales deeply. “It’s a good weird. A nice weird. A home-y weird.”

“Home-y weird?”

“Yeah. Like you remind me of home.” He takes an uncertain breath, presses his face harder into his neck. “You are home.”

* * *

Luke sleeps over more often than not, the two of them squishing into his bed through sheer force of will primarily. Ashton almost always gets to be the big spoon, which he likes, mostly because Luke seems to enjoy being the little spoon so much.

His mom starts setting a place for Luke in the morning if she knows he's stayed over, a fifth plate often in her hand questioningly at dinner and breakfast. He plays quick football scrimmages with Harry after school, does homework with Lauren at the dining room table. He integrates himself so effortlessly into Ashton's family he almost doesn't notice. It unnerves him at first, catching him talking with Harry about the difference between nylon and steel guitar strings or sharing recipes with his mum from Luke's because it's... _weird_ to him that Luke is so content to spend time with them.

“You should just give the boy a key,” his mom says one day over tea as Luke heads home for the night. “He practically lives here.”

It's a joke but he kind of considers it anyway. He's come home from school or work a handful of times to find Luke sitting on his doorstep studying or listening to music, waiting for him to arrive.

“You know someone is home and you can just knock, right?” he tells him, and Luke shrugs as he stands.

“It's kind of weird being in your house without you there,” he confesses. “I'd rather just wait.”

It's so... respectful that it unsettles him. He appreciates the consideration more than he can put into words, but it's also unusual since he's so accustomed to people barging into his life and disrupting everything, making themselves too comfortable too soon. It's like Luke does the opposite, always checking with him to make sure things are okay before moving forward. Part of him realizes this is probably how healthy, normal relationships are supposed to work and the fact that he hasn't experienced it before speaks volumes about his past, but he decides not to dwell on it. He's happy. His family is, too. He hopes Luke is happy. That's all enough for now.

* * *

"You should come to the away game next week," Luke suggests. He's lying on Ashton's bed, supposedly doing calculus homework while Ashton works on an essay for creative writing. So far all he's done is throw balled up pieces of paper at his head until he turns around so he can make a dumb faces at him. He's a child, really.

"Isn't an away game, you know, away," he says distractedly, rewriting a sentence for the third time.

"Yeah. You never get away."

"That's because I'm busy. I have stuff to do, Luke. Things."

He catches Luke rolling his eyes in the reflection of the monitor and smiles to himself, tapping away at the computer.

"It's on a weekend. Take a break."

He knows it's a weekend, and even if he did have to work, he could easily book it off. He's taken exactly one holiday since he began work at the ice rink, which was last year when he went on a hiking trip to New Zealand in the summer. He hasn't had a reason to take time off since then, saving his holidays for exam periods when he needs extra study time. Even still, he usually doesn't use them, and the holiday time wastes away.

He spins in his chair to face him and wiggles his eyebrows. "Why? Am I your good luck charm?"

Luke laughs. "You're a pretty shitty good luck charm. We've lost the last two home games and won all of our away games."

"Maybe I'm your anti-luck charm. All the more reason for me to stay home."

"Ash," he whines, crawling up off his bed and over to his desk, plunking himself in his lap. His chair creaks uneasily as Luke attempts to arrange himself on the cramped chair, all legs and elbows. "Come on. It'll be fun."

He hums, placing his hands loosely around Luke's waist.

"We can chill in the hotel all day. You won't have to worry about anything. It'll be nice."

"That does sound nice," he murmurs, resting his head on Luke's sloped shoulder.

"So you'll come?"

He lifts his head and places a kiss on his jaw. "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

They win the game, and Ashton actually gets to watch the whole thing for once. Luke has three assists, but it's Adam who ends up scoring the winning goal, and they all pile onto him as the bells blare and the crowd claps politely. Feldmann looks so proud he could cry, shaking hands with the coach without taking his eyes off his team. Ashton feels a little proud too as he watches the team skate a messy victory lap before shaking hands and hitting the showers. He waits by the bus, congratulating everyone as they pile on and even letting Adam pull him in for a hug. Luke is right behind him, looking sleepy but excited as Ashton squeezes him to his side.

The short bus ride is quiet, but by the time they're back at the hotel, the adrenaline is pumping again and there are hushed plans of a party in a joint room on the floor below Feldy's. Ashton asks Luke if wants to go, and he shakes his head, brushes his lips against his temple and says he just wants to watch a movie or something. While everyone rushes off the bus to get trashed, they sneak back to their room, where Ashton fluffs the pillows and loads up a bunch of episodes of How I Met Your Mother.

He fully expects Luke to change into some soft sweatpants and a t-shirt, but instead, he just pulls off his shirt and trips out of his shorts before flopping into bed next to Ashton. He pushes the laptop to the side, tugging Ashton closer to him and kissing his neck.

"No movies," he mutters, hauling him into his lap.

"Aren't you tired?" he asks between kisses, Luke choosing to press his lips against his mouth instead of his neck now.

"No," he mumbles. "Just missed you."

"We spent all day together," Ashton laughs.

"I slept all day."

"I was next to you the whole time."

"Doesn't count," he mumbles against his lips, rolling them so he's above Ashton, strong arms bracketing him in.

Ashton rests a hand on Luke waist as they kiss, lightly dragging the other up his side. He's never even seen Luke shirtless so getting to touch him feels like a privilege. His skin is soft and creamy, such a contrast to his rough, calloused hands. He trails his fingertips up Luke's spine, delighting in the shiver it earns him.

Luke sits up, straddling his thighs so Ashton can sit up as well. "Off," he demands, pawing at Ashton's hoodie impatiently. Ashton complies, grabbing the back of the sweater and yanking it over his head hurriedly. His hair sticks up from the static and he reaches to smooth it down, but Luke pushes him back to the bed with a little too much vigor and their heads knock together with a hollow clunk.

Ashton rubs at the sore spot on his forehead. "Ow."

"Sorry," he says sheepishly.

"S'fine," he says with a smile, reaching up to peck at his lips.

Luke kisses him again but shyly, like he's nervous. His movements are less eager and more hesitant and normally Ashton would just let it slide so they can make out for awhile longer until one of them gets too sleepy. But they're finally alone without the worry of parents or siblings, and he kind of refuses to let his opportunity die.

He flips them clumsily, Luke squeaking a little in surprise. "Are you embarrassed, Huke?" he murmurs into this neck, pressing his lips to his pulse point and feeling it thudding there.

He feels Luke swallow. "Kind of."

"Don't be." He kisses further down his neck, closer to his shoulder. "I'll still like you even if you've concussed me."

"I haven't concussed you," he replies indignantly. Then, a little worried, "Did I?"

Ashton snickers, dragging himself away from Luke's neck to kiss his nose. "No."

Luke doesn't seem entirely convinced so Ashton sighs and starts rambling off inane facts: his name, the date, who's prime minister.

Luke laughs. "What are you doing?"

"Proving that I don't have a concussion."

He laughs again. "Stop."

"Make me," he says with a grin, and Luke huffs in his face before kissing him quiet. He seems more relaxed now, running a hand up and down his back methodically. Ashton shifts his weight so their legs slot together, his thigh resting between Luke legs. He grinds down experimentally and feels Luke's blunt nails bite into his shoulder. He smirks into their kiss and does it again, earning himself a quiet moan.

"Good?" he whispers between kisses, and Luke nods enthusiastically.

He repeats the movements, working up an even rhythm, enjoying making Luke squirm.

"I'm gonna come in my pants if you don't stop," he wheezes, hands slipping to his waist to still his motions.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Luke goes, "It's fucking embarrassing, is what it is," and Ashton laughs before kissing down his neck, then his chest. He can see the outline of his cock in his briefs so he runs his palm over it, and Luke practically keens at the touch. Feeling encouraged, he tugs his briefs off, Luke helping kick them off once they're around his ankles. He inches a hand up Luke's thigh, feeling the muscles tense in his stomach as his hand travels across it before he braces his arm across his hips, pinning him in place.

He takes him in his mouth slowly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn't want to rush and scare Luke off so he's almost cautious. But then Luke's pushing out a low, "Oh, my God" and he takes it as permission to push onwards, swallowing as much of him down as he can.

Luke is fairly vocal without the fear of being walked in on, and it's surprising. It's mostly whimpering, and, when Ashton flicks his gaze up, he sees Luke biting his fist to keep quiet, which is considerate of their neighbours, he guesses, but he wants to hear him. He pulls off with as much grace as he can manage, continuing to jerk him off with his hand.

"You don't have to be quiet," he murmurs, kissing up his chest again as he moves the arm pinning Luke down to rest next to his body. He releases his fist and instead starts worrying at his bottom lip, tugging at the piercing and squeezing his eyes shut. "I want you to be louder," he says against his skin, slowing his pace until Luke lets out a frustrated groan.

"If you give me blue balls, I'll kill you," he hisses as Ashton all but stops his movements, thumb teasing the head.

"Then you're going to have to tell me what you want."

"I don't want you to stop." He starts drawing his hand up and down his cock again, but still slow, and Luke groans once more. "Ashton," he whines.

"Tell me," he says and kisses his jaw.

"Faster," he slurs. Ashton picks up the pace, and the moan it earns him is long and dragged out, making him smirk into the side of Luke's neck. "Don't smile at my pain," Luke gripes. He laughs softly and starts to move his hand quicker, flicking his wrist the way he knows he likes it and finds Luke likes it just as much.

"You want my mouth?" he asks and Luke shakes his head vehemently, twisting his head to fit their mouths together and kiss him deeply.

"Just wanna kiss you," he mumbles against his lips.

That's how he finishes, lips attached to Ashton's, tugging at his hair and grunting into his mouth as he comes. Ashton just holds out for the ride, peppering his face and neck with kisses when Luke becomes too slack-jawed to do anything other than lay there, boneless.

Ashton leaves him there for a little before going to the bathroom and wetting a washcloth. He washes his hands, then wipes Luke down the best he can, easily manhandling him into whatever positions he pleases. He tosses the washcloth into the sink and climbs back into bed, wrapping his arms around Luke, sleepy and pliant in his hold.

“You didn't get off,” Luke mumbles a little incoherently. Ashton kisses his hairline, combing his fingers through the slight curls at the base of his neck.

“Don't worry about it.”

“You should get off,” he protests but it's weak, as he's already drifting to sleep. Ashton kisses his hairline again and waits for Luke's breathing to even out before he lets himself fall asleep as well, tucking Luke under his chin as his eyes slide shut.

* * *

He feels light as they board the bus after breakfast, hand resting at the small of Luke's back. They doze on the ride home, leaning on one another even when some of the guys make kissy faces and rag on them for being so cuddly. Luke flips them off and lugs him closer, and Ashton doesn't mind.

They hold hands as Luke drives him home from the rink. Neither of them talk much, mostly just singing along to snippets of songs on the radio. He keeps catching himself staring fondly at Luke, and he kind of hates himself for it but also can't help it.

They pull into the driveway, and the house looks oddly empty, but Ashton ignores it and leans across the console to press a kiss to Luke's lips.

"Want to come in?" he asks, and Luke nods, following him inside.

When he pulls open the door, the house feels unsettled. Everything is too neat, the chairs pushed in perfectly parallel to the table, the remote controls spaced precisely apart. The fruit bowl looks like it's been organized by colour, and it's all so foreign to him, like it's someone else's house.

"Hello?" he calls into the space, letting go of Luke's hand and stepping further inside. His voice seems to die in the entrance way, the stale air swallowing up the sound before it can travel further. He calls out again, voice shaky as he swallows uneasily. His heart jumps as he hears a thump upstairs, and he turns to see Lauren stumbling into the living room. Her face is red, eyes puffy, and she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms tight around his torso. He hugs her back instinctively, running a hand through her hair.

"What's going on?" he asks. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

She shakes her head. "Mom was in an accident," she chokes out. His stomach drops, pulling his heart with it as the room spins.

"What kind of accident?"

"She was driving home last night and some asshole ran a red." His grip on her shoulders goes slack, hands slipping down to her wrists. "I tried to call you," she blubbers. "But it kept going to voicemail–" He has a flash of his phone shoved to the bottom of his bag, already dead from the bus ride to the away game. "–so I just called Auntie Linda. I didn't know what I was else to do."

The room won't stop spinning. Why is the air so thick? He can see the dust floating in the air, and it's coating his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

"Is she in the hospital?"

She nods.

"And Harry - where's he?"

"At a friend's. I called this morning and told him to stay the day."

"So he doesn't know?"

She shakes her head. "Not yet."

He breathes deeply, once, twice. "Okay. We have to – we have to get him. We have to get Harry. And then we'll go see Mum, okay?"

Lauren nods. "Do you want me to call Auntie?"

"Yes. Please."

She squeezes his forearms and pulls out her phone, walking to the kitchen for some privacy as she dials.

"Do you want me to drive you guys?" Luke asks, his voice low but so loud to Ashton's ears, punching through the dull rush of his bloody pumping through his body.

"No," he says a little sharply. He catches the way Luke flinches.

"It's no problem if you need a ride–”

"No," he repeats, harsh. "Just go."

"Ashton."

He sets his jaw, shoulders tense. "Please leave."

There's a pause, the air between them filled with static. Finally Luke says, "I'll call you?"

He swallows around the knot in his throat. "No."

Luke shifts, punching his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Um."

"Just go home, Luke." He intends to sound dismissive, and it works, Luke clenching his jaw as he leaves, running a hand through his hair.

He waits a beat after the door clicks shut to collapse, folding in on himself as he drops to the floor. He can hear Lauren still talking on the phone, voice quiet and even. His eyes burn and he tries to ignore the tears but they fall anyway, collecting at his chin before landing in little droplets on his jeans.

"Ashton?" Lauren says quietly, her voice so small. He looks up and tries to smile, wiping at his eyes but the tears keep coming. She kneels next to him and wraps her arms around him, pulling him to her chest and running a hand through his hair. "It's gonna be okay," she soothes, and it makes him cry harder. "Everything is going to be fine."

* * *

Their aunt drives them to the hospital – the same hospital where Harry got his cast put on and taken off a couple months earlier. The waiting area is identical to the emergency room, and his stomach churns when they walk past it. It's too easy to picture Luke sitting in the chair by the nurse's station; all it does is make him feel sick.

"She looks worse than she is," their aunt warns as she pulls back the curtain separating their mom from the other patients in the shared room. "It's mostly superficial damage."

It's hard to believe that when they finally lay eyes on her. Lauren whimpers next to him, and he thinks he would too if it didn't feel like all the air had been sucked out of him. There's a long cut running across her temple and deep purple bruising on her cheekbone, as well as her eye. His mom looks frail for the first time in Ashton's life, and he wants to throw up. He should have been here.

"She's okay, right?" Lauren whispers, eyes stuck to her face. Her chest rises steadily, the machines next to the bed whirring and beeping.

"Just a mild concussion and the broken leg," their aunt says gently. "She's just tired. She'll be excited to see you."

She leaves them to go pick up Harry, promising she'll bring him straight here so they can all be together. Lauren drags over an extra chair from the hall, and they both set up camp on opposite sides of the bed so they can each hold one of her hands.

"I'm sorry, Ren," he whispers.

Lauren glances at him. "It's okay."

"I should've been here."

"You being home wouldn't have stopped her from getting hit," she says evenly.

"It would've been easier on you, though." He runs his thumb over his mom's hand, smoothing it over her nails. They're painted a pretty turquoise colour, like the ocean, and when he tilts her hand in certain lights, they sparkle. "You shouldn't have had to deal with all of this."

"It's okay," she repeats.

Their aunt returns with Harry, who keeps it together the best out of all of them. He squishes in next to Lauren and hooks his fingers together with their mom's. They sit in silence, waiting for her to wake up. She does, almost an hour later, smiling tiredly at them all.

"My boys and my girl," she says, squeezing their hands weakly. "How are you?"

"Mum," Lauren huffs.

"How are _you_?" Ashton asks, shifting to the edge of seat.

"Tired," she answers. "Sore. But I'm happy you're all here."

"Sleep some more," Harry says.

"We'll be here when you wake up," Lauren reassures. She smiles at them all again before drifting back to sleep. They stay until visiting hours are over, their mom waking a few times between the first and when they have to leave. She's a little delirious from the pain medication, the doctor tells them, but if they want to visit tomorrow, she should be more lucid. Ashton deals with the insurance information before they leave, filling in what their aunt missed. She offers her place to them, but everyone agrees they'd rather go home, so that's where she drops them off, exhausted and quiet.

He makes macaroni and cheese from scratch to keep himself busy. No one is hungry so the full pot sits on the counter until it's cold. He puts the leftovers into individual tupperware containers and stores them in the fridge, moving methodically as he stacks the dishes in the sink, filling it up with soapy water. It's all mundane but his busy hands keep his brain quiet.

Lauren and Harry turn in early. It's a school day tomorrow but he doesn't expect them to go. When he walks past Lauren's room, he finds Harry curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor, the twinkling lights Lauren insisted on buying last Christmas glimmering against the white walls. They look peaceful, and it eases the tension in his shoulders some. Not enough but some.

When he gets to his room, he plugs in his phone. The screen lights up as it charges, and he flips it over as he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, change into sleep clothes. He lays on his back, staring at the dumb glow-in-the-dark stickers until they blur into unfocused spots of alien green. He blinks, and they refocus, so he does it again, and then a third time, blindly hoping he'll fall asleep before he needs to blink again.

His phone buzzes once it's fully charged; the noise makes him blink before the stickers fully blur. He reaches over and unplugs it, watching as the screen fills with missed texts. Most of them are from classmates, a couple from the hockey team, several incomprehensible ones from Adam he assumes were sent last night at the party. The most recent is from Luke but he averts his eyes before he can read it. He deletes them all before slowly typing in his voicemail password, shakily pressing the phone to his ear.

"Ashton?" His heart shoots up to his throat as Lauren's voice, scared and wavering fill his ears. "Can you come home? Or call me back at least? Something happened, and I need you to come home, um, soon. Love you."

"Ash? I really need you to pick up. Mum got in an accident; she's at the hospital, but I can't get there on my own, and they need insurance stuff or something. Please call me back."

"Ash?" Her voice is shrill now, and it feels like a stab to his chest. "Please, please pick up. I called Aunt Linda, and she's going to the hospital now. I'm worried. Why aren't you picking up? Is everything okay?"

The last message. She sounds congested and anxious but mostly just tired, her voice hoarse. "Hey, it's me. Auntie says Mum is okay but won't tell me what happened, exactly. The hospital won't tell me anything either, even when I pretended to be Linda. Please call me back. I'm worried about you. I hope things are okay. Please come home. Love you."

The guilt creeps over him like a poisonous fog, settling in his gut and spreading outward. He clenches his fist around his phone and breathes heavily through his nose, trying to calm his accelerating heart and quell the wave of bile threatening to force its way up his throat. His phone beeps in his ear and starts playing the next message before he can stop it.

"Hey. Um, it's Luke." His stomach rolls dangerously but he forces the bile down. "I just wanted to check in, see if you need anything. You can, you know, call me, if you want. I hope things are okay."

"Hi. Me again. Sorry if this is a bad time. Just, um, if you need to talk, then you know where to reach me. Okay. Bye."

"I'm sorry I keep calling, but I'm just – I'm worried. About you. So. Please call me back when you can. I'm worried. I already said that, but it's, um, true so. Call whenever. I just want to make sure you're okay. Alright. Bye."

The automated voice asks him if he wants to replay any of the messages, but he barely hears it over his retching. Nothing comes up so his stomach just heaves uselessly, making him splutter and cry all over again. He clutches his phone in his fist and curls up under the covers, hugging himself as he buries his face into the sheets. They smell faintly of bread, and he groans, rolling over and wedging himself between the wall and his mattress, where he dials, fingers fumbling to get the numbers right.

Luke picks up after the fourth ring, voice groggy and thick with sleep. “Hello?” he says, and it's ridiculous how nice it is to hear him, how comforting.

“Hey,” he says back, throat tight.

“Ash, hey.” He sounds more alert now, and Ashton can imagine him sitting up in bed, wiping the tired from his eyes. “How is everything? Are you okay? And your mom?”

“Yeah, she's...” He pauses, considering. “Broken leg and some scrapes and bruises but fine otherwise.”

“And you? You're okay?”

He starts to say yes, instinctively, because that's been his answer for as long as he can remember. When everything else is a mess, Ashton isn't. He makes things easy, works hard to make sure everyone and everything _is_ okay. But is he? Through all that work, his mom still got hurt, and Lauren still had to deal with shit, and they're all shaken. He tries so hard to keep it all together, but it doesn't matter in the end. He can't stop idiots from running red lights or any other series of events that might end badly. And that's absolutely terrifying to think about, that he can't protect his family from everything bad. He feels like that's his one job, the one thing he has to be good at even if he fails at everything else.

“No,” he finally whispers into the phone, barely audible. Luke is quiet on the other end, and for a moment, he's scared that he's too much.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he says after a moment.

“I don't have anything to say. I'm just... not okay right now.”

Another pause. “That's okay. Do you want me to, I don't know, stay on with you? Until you fall asleep or something? I can, like, hum some songs or something. I don't know.”

“That'd be nice.”

“Okay.” He's silent for a beat, thinking, before he starts humming a familiar melody, a little fast and with a repetitive guitar riff.

“American Idiot?” Ashton asks once he catches on.

“I was going to do I Miss You, but I thought that was cliche.”

He giggles despite himself, blubbering a little with fond. “I Miss You would be nice.”

“Okay,” he says and hums the opening notes before busting out an obnoxious Tom Delonge impression, over-exaggerating his words and making Ashton laugh again, his giggles coming out hiccupy and congested.

“Stop,” he rasps.

“For real this time,” Luke says once they're quiet. He hums the intro again, and this time sings to him softly, voice breaking on some of the higher notes in the chorus. By the end, Ashton's eyelids are heavy, but he whispers, “Again” anyway and falls asleep with Luke's voice in his ears.

* * *

“Smash him!” his mom yells while trying to wave her crutch in the air, pitching sideways on her unstable legs before correcting herself. Ashton dodges the crutch and attempts to ease her back into her seat, but she brushes him off, leaning forward precariously on her good leg and gearing up to shout more encouraging words at the players as they swerve around the rink, sticks clacking loudly against the ice.

“Mum,” Ashton pleads. “We're supposed to be quiet when they're playing.”

“I want to see some people get checked,” his mom reasons. “Everyone says the best part is when people fight.”

Lauren laughs and tugs him down to his seat. “Leave her,” she says. “She's just excited.”

“Aren't we all?” Harry says, eyes glued to the game playing out before them. It's the last game of the season, and they're competing for third, the highest the team has placed in a decade. Ashton's never seen the place so busy. They'd actually had to buy tickets ahead of time for once, instead of dropping in at the last second. He's overwhelmingly proud, not only of the team, but of this place, too. 

He watches the two teams pass the puck back and forth among each other, weaving their ways across the ice and checking whenever they can. It's been a fast game, with both teams tied at zero. Unlike past games that have been this close, the crowd is engaged, cheering and making noise at every opportunity instead of stricken in their seats.

“Go, go, go!” His mom and Harry are screaming as someone from their team books it down the rink, dodging the other players with grace while his teammates protect him, watching his back and challenging those who come after him. Everyone around Ashton is yelling or ringing cowbells, blasting air horns, stomping their feet, anything to make noise. But he's quiet in his seat as he watches the familiar wind-up, feeling the solid _smack_ of the stick connecting with the puck in his chest as it slices through the air and just slips past the goalie's left hand as the buzzer sounds and the rink erupts.

The jumbotron flashes the 'G O A L' sign across the screen, and upstairs the balloons are dropped, covering the audience and the teams. People around him hug, some crying, some shouting, others chugging their beers before gleefully flinging the foam into the air. His mom and Harry and Lauren are holding each other, hands clasped to arms as they celebrate. Ashton smiles at them before moving his attention down to the rink, where Luke is being hoisted into the air, helmet off and mouthguard hanging. He's searching for him, and Ashton waits until their eyes connect to grin, thrusting his fist in the air. Luke mimics him, pumping his helmet above his head as the team attempts to do a lap with him in their arms. They crash into a heap, piling onto one another, but Luke escapes, skating over to his section. Ashton meets him at the boards, leaning against the edge and smiling.

“A champion,” he says once Luke is close enough to hear him.

“Not quite.”

“Third place is good enough for me. You're a star, kid.”

“How old are you, again?” he asks, and they're both grinning stupidly as Luke leans forward, Ashton meeting him halfway. Luke draws back as the team starts piling on him again, sweaty and elated. Ashton regards them fondly, waiting for Luke to get away momentarily to press a fleeting kiss to his mouth.

“I'll be right out,” he murmurs and kisses him quick again before his teammates drag him away, Ashton laughing as he watches them go.

He feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down to see Lauren, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Liz and Mum are waiting for us outside.”

He nods and follows her up through the stands to the exit where Luke's family and his are chattering, still excited after the win. People stream out of the doors and surround them, the energy radiating off of them tangible in the cool evening air. 

“Congrats,” he says to Liz as he wraps an arm around her for a hug.

“You must be proud,” Ann adds.

Liz smiles, looking past them as she says, “I am.” She squeezes Ashton's arm before moving past him to gather her son into a tight hug, Luke ducking down so she can say something into his ear. When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and he smiles down at her, kissing her cheek.

He pulls Ashton into his side as his mom leaves him to link arms with her husband. His hair is still a little damp from the shower, and he smells like body wash, but when Ashton leans in to rest his head on his shoulder, he catches the undercurrent of his scent, and it's just as comforting as it's always been.

“We should get ice cream,” Harry suggests, and everyone seems to concur so they start towards downtown, walking leisurely. He and Luke bring up the rear so he can look at all his favourite people, together. Luke presses his lips to the top of his head, and he closes his eyes, drinking in all the good he feels in this moment. Everything is okay for now, and even though it might not be tomorrow or the day after, he's not letting himself think about it. Because right here, with everyone he loves around him, is all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> you can let me know what you thought in the comments below or hit me up on [tumblr!](http://peachflush.tumblr.com/) thank you guys again for sticking it out with me while i wrote this thing. i appreciate you all so much, i can't even put it into words.


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